


We Oughta Give it A Try

by Wind_Ryder



Series: Non-Stop Gifts/AUs [9]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Anxiety, Attempts at being PC that fail, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Child Abuse, Depression, Family Drama, Fencing, Fighting for pleasure, Found Family, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multi, Newspapers, Pain Kink, Poly Family, Racism, Vague Non-Stop Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-06 03:47:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6736945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wind_Ryder/pseuds/Wind_Ryder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How much longer is this?” Aaron asks. He’s starting to look faintly ill. </p><p>“It gets better,” Alex repeats again. Clenching and unclenching his hands. “Goes on to say all sorts of fun things. Like how minorities are so poor they can’t get involved in fencing. And isn’t it nice that John had a French sugar daddy willing to help.” </p><p>“Their exact words are, 'John's involvement came strictly from his boyfriend, whose experience growing up in France offered a different perspective,'” Madison reveals. </p><p>“Sugar daddy,” Alex mutters.</p><p>John hates the article. Hates everything about it. </p><p>He especially hates how it enables his sister, Martha, to track him down. He hasn't seen her in years, and he has no idea what to say to her when she arrives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Regionals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle (twoandahalfslytherins)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoandahalfslytherins/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Non-Stop](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5626945) by [writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle (twoandahalfslytherins)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoandahalfslytherins/pseuds/writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle). 



> Thank you for taking the time to read my story!
> 
> I truly appreciate it. 
> 
> This story came via an anon prompt on my tumblr:  
> "im not saying you should write a fic where john's sister martha comes to the 'murder house' to stay a few nights while shes in town for whatever reason but you totes should."
> 
> As I needed to explain how Martha even found John in the first place, you get a flash forward to John's time on the school Fencing team. 
> 
> All characterizations are initially from Writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle's work: Non-Stop. Please read that story if you have any questions about what's happening or alluded to in the background of this piece. 
> 
> IMPORTANT: As this story deals with matters of race, if you feel as though I have mischaracterized anyone or have portrayed them in a way that is not accurate or authentic, please let me know how I can improve the writing of these characters and what I should be more aware of moving forward. 
> 
> Thank you!

John can’t stop touching the ribbon. Dark blue stretching up from the medal, brightly contrasting with his uniform. It’s _beautiful._ Unlike anything he’s ever seen before. Unlike anything he’s ever been able to call his.

He's been smiling since the moment he realized he'd _won._ Since he'd gotten that last hit in and the bell rang and people started cheering. Since before he'd tugged his mask off and turned around. Catching Lafayette's eye as he stood there cheering more obnoxiously than anyone else in the stands. Since before they placed the medal around his neck. _First Place_ boldly engraved in the center. School, date, and location printed in laminate on the back.

The tournament had lasted for hours. Each seed getting progressively more difficult as the day wore on. Lafayette had sat there, leaning over the wall that divided the spectators from the competitors. Arms wrapped around John's shoulders. Quietly whispering instructions and notes into John's ear.

Tara had whined that John got to cuddle the whole competition. Had begged Lafayette for a hug before she went on. He'd given it to her too. Started a trend, really. Giving each competitor a hug before they scampered off to fence. He even made Tara blush when he kissed her cheek. Winking at her as she hurried over to take first position.

John rolled his eyes. Called him a scoundrel. Lafayette had just placed a hand on his heart. Did his best to look offended. _"Moi?"_ he asked. Scandalized.

 _"Oui,"_ John had replied. Not budging an inch.

This had been the first time John'd gotten the chance to use the touch sensors. It'd been strange at first. Threading the wire through his uniform so he could attach it to his sabre. (Lafayette still grumbled about the fact that John eventually switched from foil to sabre. Complaining that foil was so much better. John rolled his eyes every time he did). You couldn't argue with results, though. The sensor picked up the exact moment contact was made, and John felt adrenaline pumping through him from start to finish.

Fencing pools are generally quiet. Applause exploding at the completion rather than throughout. Judges watching closely for the moment when the tip makes contact. But when the explosion came. It _came._ The crowd had never sounded louder when John’s sabre touched home. And his ears are still ringing from it.

He won.

He won the whole event. There's a big trophy being made right this second. His name's going to be engraved on it. It's going to sit in the school trophy case for the rest of eternity.

_He won!_

 

More than that, his team won too. Won, and propelled them all to Nationals.

Alex had been screaming in the phone when John finally got him on the line, shouting between him and Aaron/Madison. Unable to control his excitement. Eventually Aaron had taken the phone from Alex. Put it on speaker so they could all talk at once.

When someone dragged John off for a photo with a local newspaper, Lafayette had snatched the phone from him. Waved him off, smiling, and completing the call while John got posed this way and that.

Things have settled a little now, but the buzzing adrenaline still hasn’t quite faded completely. With the rest of the team on a bus heading to campus, John’s immeasurably grateful that he and Lafayette had taken their own car. It means he can stare at the medal without worrying about looking like an idiot. He can look over at his boyfriend. Tell him something sappy, without the audience.

"Thank you," he starts.

Lafayette glances at him. He hasn't stopped smiling either. It's been more subtle. It's been less pronounced. But it's been there start to finish. "Thank you so much." John leans over the divide and kisses Lafayette's cheek. "You have no idea how grateful I am."

"For what?" Lafayette asks.

"For teaching me? Getting me involved?" For encouraging John to try out for the team. For not complaining _too_ much when John had started to drift away from foil. Had started to really enjoy sabre. Had begun changing his practice habits. For willfully fighting John every night. For driving him to show after show. For financing his presence in this sport from start to finish. For not listening when John said he was the wrong color for this sport. For telling him to do it anyway. For not letting John doubt himself.

For believing he was good enough to attend a tournament like this.

For _being_ there when John won first. First place at Regionals. He's going to go to Nationals. He's going to _Nationals._ Nationals are in two weeks, and he's got to arrange his schedule. Got to take finals early. Got to prepare for the trip. He can't believe this. He really can't. He's going to _Nationals._ Their school's so small. But their team made it. They're going. They're _going!_

 _"Thank you,"_ He tells Lafayette again.

Lafayette reaches up and around. Ruffles John's curls. John closes his eyes, ducking under the touch. Trying not to preen at the contact. It's another reason he's happy to be in the car with Lafayette and not on the bus. Not that it's much of a secret with the rest of the fencing team how much he adores the light little touches. The gentle moments of well wishing that seem to carry him through the entirety of the match from one fight to the next.

In fact. They seem to think it's adorable.

John's not used to being adorable.

He's not used to having this many friends either.

But just last week Tara gave him a sticker to put on his fencing bag that says _Certified_ _Cinnamon Roll._ And he has no idea why it makes everyone laugh when he sees it. Aaron had been nearly in hysterics when he saw the bag. Madison heartily agreeing. They both enjoyed drawing out the phrase _cinn-amon_ like it meant something different. And Alex was always right there, nodding along in agreement. Usually patting John's head. "Too good, too pure." Which seems to have caught on, because John hears the team saying it every so often.

But. They _are_ his friends. He got invited to Jeremy's birthday party. He helped Alvie with his homework. He took Shauna and Daniel to the store when they needed a ride and the bus was running late. He gets texts occasionally from the various members of the team. Joins them for their pasta dinners.

He's not sure how any of this happened. But he knows Lafayette started it. Knows that he wouldn’t have ever spoken to any of them if it wasn't for Lafayette. It's been a long time since John felt this comfortable about anything. Since he felt so at peace with where he was in life. "Thank you," he says _again._ He doesn't know how to convey all the thoughts in his head. Doesn't know how to put the words in the right order. He wishes he could. Wishes he could tell Lafayette exactly how he's feeling. Wishes he could show the man how much it all meant to him.

"You're welcome," Lafayette tells him. Squeezing his hand. John squeezes back. He's going to Nationals.

He's going to _Nationals._

He’d never thought he’d be going to Nationals. Never thought he’d place first. That of the forty-five points needed to win team, he’d scored almost half of them. That he be the first sophomore to be selected for the team match. Ralph had shaken his head. Made it clear. “You’re the fastest out of everyone.”

And he _was_. Davis had timed some of his touches. Shown him the results. Consistently he got in and out quicker than his peers. His lunge covered more ground. He avoided getting hit more often. His indicator score was one of the highest of the tournament’s. And Columbia’s coach even came over to talk to him afterward.

_Columbia._

Not that he had any intention of changing schools. But. _Columbia._

“Davis said he was gonna look into a scholarship for next year.” John’s fingers squeezed around the medal. A _scholarship._ For  _him._ He...he never thought he'd get any kind of scholarship. Especially not like that. “Help with some of the aid.” The less of his mother’s life insurance policy he used, the better. He hated tapping into it. Even if it was set up for exactly this reason.

And a scholarship...for something he already loved doing naturally...?

“You deserve it.” Then, with a wry smile, he nudged John’s arm. “I do believe you are better than me, now.”

John had been wondering that for some time. If Lafayette had been letting him get those hits in recently. If when they practiced together Lafayette purposefully attempted to bolster his confidence by giving in.

The struggle with practicing with Lafayette in the first place was that Lafayette preferred foil.  Preferred being able to hit with all sides of his sword rather than just the tip.

More often than not, Lafayette’s touches weren’t real touches. They’d need to reset and try it again.

“You’re better at foil than me,” John tells him. Lafayette just smiles. Running his hand over John’s arm. He stops back at John’s wrist. Plays with the skin there a little before ducking his fingers against John’s palm and holding it.

He flicks the turn signal and gives a honk to the bus letting them know they’re leaving the pack. The bus honks back. Then, they’re turning onto the street leading up to Lafayette’s house. “I’m proud of you, you know,” he tells John. “You did so well today.”

Well enough, that when they reach the house— there’s a party waiting for them.

John blinks. Laughing when he sees the mess Alex made. A mixed assortment of balloons are tied to the banister of the front porch, Darth Vader through Dora the Explorer. Streamers are rolling down from the gutter. Someone’s pinned fairy lights to the front door.

When they actually get inside, Alex propels himself into John’s arms. Squeezing him breathtakingly tight before pulling him over to see the rest of the house. Baked goods line the counter. Chips and soda gathered on the table. There’s some Frito Chili Pie warming in the oven. There’s a bottle of water being handed to him by Aaron. “Thank you,” John says, snatching it and popping the cap as Alex continues the impressive tour.

“You’ll never get any otherwise,” Aaron replies. Rolling his eyes. He’s telling the truth. Alex shows no signs of stopping, and even Madison is shaking his head fondly at it all.

John half wonders how long they’ve been working on this. Regionals was nearly eight hours away, and the drive had taken the bulk of the day. It’s late, but everyone’s still up. Still standing there smiling and applauding. Congratulating him and giving him cards.

Alex shoves his card in first. Handmade Tony the Tiger giving John a thumbs up saying _Yooooooou’rrreee Great!_ “I even gave him a sword!” he did. It’s tucked into the bottom. Squeezing in around a couple of big purple hearts.

Aaron steps up and gives John a quick hug, wishes him well. Madison delivering much the same, if somewhat more awkwardly. Then the both of them are heading out the door with a jaunty “See you tomorrow” tossed over their shoulders.

It’s the only warning John has before Alex is there. Pressing hard against his body. Nuzzling against his chest. His throat. Leaving kisses on John’s collar bone.

Christ _yes._

It’s still awkward. Especially since Aaron and Madison _clearly_ left with this in mind, but John lifts his hand. Wraps it around Alex’s hair and pulls it back just enough to give him a kiss. Alex moans, eyes fluttering shut as he arches into the touch. Mouth inviting John for the plunder. It’s so nice to give. To take. To squeeze Alex tight and feel him pressing even more enticingly against him.

Lafayette steps in behind him. Planting rough hands on John’s hips and shifting him so when Alex tries to get more contact, he can’t get the angle he wants. Can only whimper. “Shall we make _mon amour_ happy, _chaton?”_ Lafayette whispers. He’s saying it in John’s ear, but it’s not meant for him. It’s meant for Alex. Alex, who makes another keening noise. Who arches even more. Holding onto John’s body as he tries desperately to nod his head.

John’s holding Alex’s hair too tightly for that. His head only shifts a little. But when it does, John can see Alex’s eyes rolling back. His lips part with a heady pant. Tongue flicking out to wet them. John pulls Alex’s hair back even more. Stretching that delectable throat as far as it will go. Skin and muscle strain. Sinew taut.

John leans forward. Traces the throat with the edge of his teeth. Sliding them up and down one muscle in particular. Relishing in the gasps Alex provides. Eager for more.

Nosing at Alex’s collar. He find his spot. Braces Alex with a hand at the base of his back, then bites. _Hard._ The keening moan is _everything_. Alex’s knees go weak, and John holds him upright. Keeps him in position as he feels the swollen flesh burning in his mouth. John flicks his tongue out. Licking the indentations his teeth left. Kissing the bruise that’s forming.

Lafayette grinds into John’s ass. Cock teasing and hard. John’s eyes flutter. He pulls Alex toward him. Eager to take everything and more. Wanting every bit of what Alex can offer him.

He barely has time to consider what he’s going to do next, when he feels Lafayette’s mouth moving its way down the back of his throat. Settling just at the junction of his neck and shoulder. It’s the only warning he receives, before the bite he’d given Alex is returned to him in full.

This time, it’s Alex holding him up. Even as John’s vision turns white. His head starts feeling suddenly empty of all thoughts and complaints. All concerns or planning. He can feel Lafayette looping one arm around his waist. Can feel Alex shifting his hands to bracket John more firmly against Lafayette’s body.

For a brief moment in time, John’s floating. Fiery pain flares brightly across his synapses, but he rides it out. Feels its tender waves and knowing affection. There’s a small part of him that thinks he should probably not submit like this. That thinks Alex came all this way to be with _him,_ and if he submits, he’s not going to be able to give Alex what _he_ wants.

But when Lafayette pulls back, it’s only for a fraction of a second. Only long enough to reach out and snatch Alex firm. Hold both of them, John’s back still pressed against Lafayette’s front, Alex’s front still pressed against John’s. But Lafayette’s got both in hand. “Shall you please _mon amour?”_

And that’s it. Lafayette’s got both in hand. He can manage this. John lets go. Bliss clouding all rational thought and judgement as Alex takes him by hand, and leads him up to bed.

It’s Lafayette who lays John on his back, though. Who tells Alex to get on top of him. “Why don’t you undress him, _chaton?”_

Alex nods. Pushes at John’s shirt. Tucking his fingers around the hem and pulling. Cold fingers sliding up against John’s sides. John squirms. Leans up so Alex can pull the shirt over his head.

Almost the moment the shirt’s been removed, Lafayette’s hand is tangling in John’s hair. Pulling his head back and holding him in place. His scalp twinges. His eyes flutter.

He’s been fighting all day. Every moment of every second of this day. From start to finish. And he loves fencing. He does. He can’t fathom a world where he no longer fences. But it’s combat from the moment he wakes up to now.

And when Lafayette holds him in place. Tells Alex to remove John’s pants next. It’s so easy to just let it happen “Look at you,” Lafayette coos. He slides his hands over John’s chest. Fingers pinching John’s nipples cruelly. Pulling him upright so he’s arching. Lafayette sliding behind him.

John whimpers. The sound is pulled up from him. Cold air is wrapping all around him. His legs are bare, and then there’s heat. Heat and the feeling of clothing pressing against his bare thighs. His back.

“That’s it _chaton..._ He deserves your mouth on him doesn’t he? Deserves to feel you take him down?” Alex whines. His fingers wrap around John’s hips. His nose presses against John’s groin. Tongue trailing lines from root to stem.

Lafayette’s nails are digging into John’s chest. Stinging so much he can arch into it. Mouth wide. “Do you want something, _mon amour?”_ John does. He _does_ , but he can’t speak. Words are lost. His tongue is laden with weight. He stares up blearily at Lafayette. Alex wraps his lips around his cock, and John loses sight of Lafayette’s face.

He gasps again. Arches into Alex’s precious mouth. Warm and tight and sinful. _Oh God…_

Lafayette runs his nails across John’s chest. Lifts his fingers and traces across John’s lower lip. Pushing inside. John’s mouth closes around it. The finger slides back and forth between his lips. Pumping in and out. Slowly. Carefully. Even as Alex marks his pace on John’s dick.

John’s eyes roll back in his head. He breathes in through his nose. Rapid bursts. One finger becomes two. Three. His lips burn with pressure, his tongue is flattened. He tries to suck on the fingers. Half desperate for the feeling to continue. Alex is sucking harder. Harder than ever before. Sinking down so his lips are kissing John’s groin.

Something presses against John’s ass. He whimpers. Fingers reaching out. Scrambling for purchase. One of Lafayette’s hands wraps around his left wrist. Pins it down. The other keeps shifting. Fingers sliding in and out of John’s mouth smoothly.

No need to think. No need to speak. No need to conjure up words his brain struggles to say. He just needs to lay there. Lay there. _This feels nice._

The rough press of jeans. The sharp sting of a zipper. John’s lifted up and turned. His head is spinning. He’s sprawled against Lafayette’s front. The fingers are gone. Gone to adjust something else. Somewhere else. He whines. Head falling forward.

He laps at Lafayette’s throat. It’s not enough. He needs something _in_ his mouth. Not resting against his lips. He’s-he’s—

Something presses against his hole. He jerks. Whimpers. Alex is there. Alex is there and it’s wet and smooth and oh God—

“That’s it...that’s it _ma belle.”_ Lafayette’s hands are back. His perfect hands. Always in motion. Always there. Holding and gripping. Sliding and caressing. Alex is pushing his fingers inside John and John can’t think.

Can’t process.

He opens his mouth again. A needy little bird. Desperate for something to fill it. Lafayette pulls him down. Pulls him so his lips are constantly in motion. They kiss. They kiss and Lafayette _plunders_ his mouth. Ravaging each open space. Taking and claiming. It’s so good. So perfect.

Alex’s hands are wrapped firm around John’s hips. “Shall he take you, _mon amour?_ Shall you feel him inside you?” John nods hazily, and Alex does just that. Pushes in. Slides home. He stays still though. Stays still. Harsh burn of his jeans still pressed against John’s thighs. Their clothes will stain. They’ll be ruined by this.

It doesn’t seem to matter. Neither Alex nor Lafayette show any signs of undressing. Still grinding the rough fabric against him. Setting his skin aflame.

Lafayette pushes back. Shifts John’s angle on Alex’s cock. Shifts them both so Alex is on his back. So John’s gasping and shuddering on top. Eyes closed. Lungs heaving for air. He’s pushed back farther. Farther. Until Alex holds him. Babbles in his ear. They’re lying on top of each other. Lafayette bracketing them in. There’s a finger tracing their join. There’s a hand pushing John down.

“So good you feel so good,” Alex chants. Hugging his arms around John’s body. Mouthing at John’s shoulder. John’s head falls. He’s theirs for the taking.

Lafayette presses in. One finger sliding alongside Alex’s cock and John gasps. Alex moans. “Don’t you _dare_ move, ma petit. Don’t you even think about it.” Alex whimpers. Squeezes John’s chest even tighter. Can’t stop telling him how good it feels.

How hot he is. Pleading Lafayette if he can move. Please. Please let him move. Let him do anything.

But no. Lafayette presses his finger further alongside Alex’s shaft. In and out. In and out. John’s hips move. Meeting each thrust. Gasping at each contact.

He’s vaguely aware of the lube being drizzled on him. The extra care and consideration going into this. The negotiation Lafayette and Alex must have had prior.

Two fingers. Three.

That’s not a finger.

That’s—

“— _Laf!”_ Alex moans. He’s shaking so violently beneath John’s body that he may as well have been a vibrator. Bought and purchased at the local adult outlet. Just for their pleasure. _His_ pleasure.

Lafayette’s there. Both of them are there. Both of them are there inside him and John’s going to self destruct. He’s going to tear in two. He gasps. Shivering. Hot and Cold. “You can move now, Alex,” Lafayette teases.

It’s all Alex can do. He tries to buck up. Tries to gain friction. Lafayette’s holding John so firmly in place. His teeth trail against John’s throat.

“Come for us,” He commands, and John does just that.

The moment Lafayette’s teeth sink in. The moment Alex moans filthily beneath him. The moment Lafayette pulls almost completely out before slamming home.

He’s too full. He’s not full enough.

And it’s perfect.

“Congratulations mon amour,” Lafayette whispers. “You _won.”_


	2. The Article

Lafayette presses his lips to John’s temple. Nuzzles him a few times before sliding out of bed. Pulling the blanket up over his shoulders. Watching him sleep safe and warm. Alex is sprawled out. John wrapping around him like a big spoon. Both of them are sleeping peacefully, and it’s a beautiful sight. 

Quietly exiting the room, he closes the door with a soft click. Descending to the kitchen with a yawn. He sets about making coffee and tea. Isn’t surprised when there’s a knock on the door only a few minutes later. He pads over and welcomes Aaron and Madison in. Hands them each their preferred drink. He  _ can  _ be a good host now and again. 

“How did little Burr and Monsieur Madison sleep?” he teases. Unable to keep the grin off his face. 

“Well, we actually  _ slept, _ ” Madison replies with a shrug. Aaron snorting into his coffee indelicately. 

“So did we, after a time.” It hadn’t been nearly as long as Lafayette would have liked, but John had fallen asleep not long after their first round. Exhaustion from the day already wearing him out. Adrenaline fading into nothingness. 

Alex had taken a little longer to wear down. Had practically wept in need as John dozed. Lafayette had enjoyed playing with Alex. Enjoyed whispering filthy things in his ear as Alex tried desperately not to wake up John.  _ He needs his sleep,  _ Lafayette told Alex firmly.  _ You will not like me if you wake him.  _

The threat held entirely no substance. John crashed hard. Hadn’t so much as twitched for the remainder of the evening. Just lay there. Blissful and content. Entirely unaware. 

Such a sweet boy when he wants to be. 

Turning back to the stove, Lafayette collects the ingredients necessary for  crêpes . Starts mixing them together and getting the pan ready for when John and Alex eventually unearthed themselves. 

They come sooner rather than later. Before Lafayette thought they would. And John’s spitting mad about something too. He all but throws himself into his chair. Scowling and crossing his arms over his chest. Alex is right behind him, Lafayette’s laptop in his hands. 

“What’s wrong?” Aaron asks, even as John snatches an apple from the fruit tray and chomps into it. 

“Tara texted John,” Alex explains. He slams the laptop down on the table, and Lafayette finishes the first set of  crêpes as Madison and Aaron lean over to see what’s on the screen. From what he can tell, it’s a news article of some sort. One that Madison carefully reads out loud. 

“ _ A Rising Star  _ by Rita O'Connor,” he starts. Pausing to frown. “She was that lady from Sports Illustrated wasn’t she?” 

Alex growls out the answer, “Yup.” 

Carefully pouring the batter into the pan, Lafayette monitors the food. Clearing his throat, Madison starts reading the article. Slowly and methodically. Like an English professor. “College Sophomore John Laurens is an athlete to watch this season. At nineteen years old, John placed first at the NCAA Fencing Regionals, carrying him and his team to their first Nationals appearance later this month. The remarkable part? He only started fencing last year.”

Madison pauses. It’s not so bad so far. Not nearly enough to justify how furious both Alex and John are. “Easily surpassing his peers, many of whom have been fencing since early childhood, John's displayed a remarkable drive for competition. ‘Before he even joined the team, he'd been practicing almost three hours a night,’ Coach Richard Davis said.” This time, when Madison stops, Lafayette glances toward him. Shifting the pan off the burner to better assess the situation. 

Slowly, Madison starts off the next sentence. “‘His... _ boyfriend _ had been teaching him as a hobby, then encouraged him to try out.’” Ah. Lafayette glances toward John. While not in the closet, John’s tetchy about public displays of affection. About his private life being posted everywhere. 

He’d relaxed against Lafayette during the competition, mainly because he’d needed a rally point. Not because he just wanted an excuse to cuddle. 

Clearing his throat, Madison went on. “And it's a good thing he did!” Fake enthusiasm dripping from each word. “Losing only  _ one _ match in the normal season—by the way, good job at that.” Madison tacks on, lifting his gaze from the laptop. It doesn’t earn him a smile. Nor even a show of appreciation. John just keeps scowling at his apple. Chewing viciously. 

Sighing, Madison continues, “John's been a point carrier for Mountain Side College. And despite his lack of  _ prolonged _ formal training, he's proven that hard work can surpass insurmountable odds.

“After joining his school's fencing team, he began practicing closer to four hours a night. Managing to keep and impressive 3.4 GPA throughout his intense training regimen. His professors have no shortage of kind words to say about him,” Madison hesitates. Lafayette can feel it. The pressure rising. “...Though his classmates aren't as verbose,” Madison reads. “‘He's quiet,’ Ryan Marks, fellow sophomore, admitted. ‘Keeps to himself and his friends….though he does like getting into fights.’"

“It's a sentiment that many of John's peers share. Polite when spoken to, often quiet and reserved, but had a tendency to argue if pushed too far. Some of those arguments devolving into physical altercations. Not exactly what most teams look for.”

Lafayette tilts his pan over a plate. Sliding the  crêpe off. He walks to the table and sets it down in front of John next to a bowl of fruit. John doesn’t even look at it. Even though there are strawberries. His favorite. 

Madison continues sotto voce. “Even Davis admits that when he first joined, John's lack of team spirit and occasional hypersensitivity had been a struggle. ‘He wasn't used to thinking in terms of a group of people working together.  _ Especially _ not a group like this.’

“Over time, John's combative nature seemed to be funneled solely into fencing.” (Aaron makes a dry comment about how clearly fencing is a euphemism if that’s the case. No one laughs.) “Instead of taking his anger out on the rest of the world, he channels into lightening fast matches. If there's one thing that John's good at? It's moving quick.

“Sabre's already a fast sport,” Mads continued. “But he's putting up marks as being a fast scorer. Tapping in and out with speedy lunges. His body's built for this. Strong legs and lean frame, he's got everything a good fencer should have. Even the dedicated leap of a seasoned professional.” It's a step away from comparing him to some kind of animal, and Madison pauses  for a moment. Giving Lafayette the opportunity to squeeze John’s shoulder. “Perfect form aside, John naturally stands out from the other members of his fencing team…. _ Oh Jesus Christ.”  _

“It gets better,” Alex growls out. John’s shoulder is tense beneath Lafayette’s hand. He chomps more of his apple. Tearing into it like an animal. 

“Regrettably, it’s his dark skin and curly hair that draw more attention than his posture. ‘It's no secret that there's a diversity problem with clubs like Fencing and Equestrian,’ Davis continues. John's the only—” Madison cuts himself off. Then grits out, “— _ minority _ on the team. ‘But we've already had a few POC freshman come up to us and ask about how they can get involved. What they can do to learn.’”

“How much longer is this?” Aaron asks. He’s starting to look faintly ill. 

“It gets better,” Alex repeats again. Clenching and unclenching his hands. “Goes on to say all sorts of fun things. Like how  _ minorities  _ are so poor they can’t get involved in fencing. And isn’t it nice that John had a French sugar daddy willing to help.” 

“Their exact words are, “John's involvement came strictly from his  _ boyfriend _ , whose experience growing up in France offered a  _ different perspective _ ,” Madison reveals. 

“Sugar daddy,” Alex mutters.

“But not everyone has a wealthy friend or partner willing to show them the ropes, so to speak,” Madison continues reading. "A lot of kids from... _ bad backgrounds _ can't rise up and find good foo—”

“—They don’t even mention what those backgrounds are!” Alex shouts. Cutting his hand through the air like a knife. “And like? How the hell would they know anything about John? They didn’t ask! What, he’s latino so he’s from a rough neighborhood?” 

“I mean, they’re not  _ wrong,”  _ John mumbles. 

“That’s beside the point!” Alex snaps. “And all that shit about you being the team’s POC—sorry—  _ minority  _ spokesperson? What kind of bullshit is that?” 

Lafayette leans over Madison’s shoulder to read the next section. There’s a quote from the head of the athletic department, "Blocked opportunity keeps them from becoming more than they are now. He's certainly lucky." Then...a little lower. Davis is back. "When the masks go up? No one sees who you are or what you look like. It doesn't matter. All that matters is how you fence. But when they come off? People see you. And John's encouraged more involvement with the team. It's truly remarkable."

The word “minorities” keeps being used this place and that. Apparently John’s out there recruiting them all to the team to help prove that they can do anything. Be the best that they can be.  _ Apparently _ John’s also running seminars and club meetings for incoming freshmen and high-school students eager to learn. 

Lafayette even gets another mention as the Fencing team’s  _ mascot _ who occasionally assisted members in their attacks. 

The article attempts to finish out strong. A great resounding trumpet call for all the social justice warriors out there. “With open lines of communication and acceptance starting to fill the ranks of the collegiate atmosphere, that someone like John can find acceptance to share his impressive talent with the world is nothing short of a victory.

“This writer in particular looks forward to following his career, and seeing how he does at Nationals. And with any luck? More minorities will feel encouraged to join their local fencing teams in the future. Sharing their talent with the world.”

He finishes reading, and sighs. Suddenly, it’s perfectly clear why John’s so upset. Why he’s fuming at the kitchen table. Hell, why Tara even texted it to him in the first place. The article is  _ physically  _ offensive. 

Not to mention  _ wrong.  _ John didn't run clinics to teach freshmen and high-schoolers about fencing. He attended school events the whole team was required to attend. He answered questions when asked. He sat next to Tara and they traded Twizzlers while they waited for their two hour exposé to end.

He'd gone up with Ralph and given a brief demonstration, then they'd called it a day. Everyone went and got pasta afterwards. It had  _ nothing  _ to do with gaining  _ minority  _ participation. Attracting new POCs to their cause. Like some creepy cult looking for virgin blood.

And both the Men's and Women's teams practiced with each other. John wasn't the only one who worked with the women. And the Women’s team volunteered to help out during the Men’s practices too. That's what happened.

The words are irritating on their own.  _ Someone like John.  _ What? What exactly  _ is  _ someone like John? Gay? Latin? Brown? A troubled kid from a bad background? Which, Alex was right. They never touched up on that. Never discussed what the implication was. 

John’s seething. Ignoring the  crêpe Lafayette gave him, and glaring at the computer with open hostility. “They certainly enjoyed making a point to bring up his  _ mascot boyfriend  _ often enough,” Alex growls. Crossing his arms over his chest. “Although they  _ apparently _ couldn’t be bothered to get your name right _. _ ”

Lafayette rolls his eyes. “That does not bother _me_.” 

What bothers him is how upset  _ John  _ got. All things considered. His boyfriend’s fit to explode. 

"We should write a letter," Alex suggests. "Tell them to fix the article."

"Why?" John growled. "It's not like it's going to change anything. They published this shit all over the fucking internet."

John curled forward a bit at his own words. Fingers tightening in a fierce grip around his arms. His face actually went pale. He looks ill. Alex reaches a hand awkwardly toward him, and even Aaron and Madison seem to be on red alert — waiting for the explosion. 

It’s not going to happen. 

Reaching out, Lafayette picks up a mug of tea and pushes it into John's hand. John jumps. Not expecting it. He stares at the cup like it’s foreign concept, but Lafayette doesn’t release it until John’s fingers actually curl around it more firmly. Cupping it between both his palms and letting the heat ground him. He licks his lips. Takes a deep breath in. Lets it out.

Lafayette shifts. Moves so John's back is pressed against his front. Leaning over, he presses his chin to the crown of John's head. Drapes his arms over John's shoulders. Lafayette hums. His throat vibrating against the back of John's skull. "Are you certain,  _ mon amour?"  _ He nuzzles John's head. Kisses his temple.

John slowly starts relaxing. Leaning back against him. Trigger point setting back some. Not ready to go off just yet. John takes a deep breath. Lets it out. Repeats the process. 

“I can...let it go…” 

Alex scowls. Opens his mouth to argue, but John’s shaking his head. “It’s not like it outed me...it just…”

“Treated you like a second class citizen?” Alex asks. “The strange  _ outlier _ who happens to be good at the  _ White _ Sport? Only involved in the first place because of his foreign boyfriend slash Sugar Daddy who clearly doesn't prescribe to American Social Norms?” 

“Yeah,” John agrees bitterly. “That.” He leans back into Lafayette's touch. Sips at his tea. "I don’t want to write a letter." 

Which...is likely a good thing. There's no point in going on the offensive against Rita O'Connor. The woman tried her best, and missed the mark completely.

John looks down at his hands. Brown skin wrapping around his mug. “Well I for one am happy you look the way you do,” Lafayette says. Kissing John’s perfect cheek with no shortage of delight. John snorts. Rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t have you any other way.” 

“Not even if I was white?” John asks. And there’s something there. Something in his tone that Alex seems to pick up on, if his suddenly attentive expression is anything to go off of. Something Lafayette doesn’t know enough about to puzzle through. “Not even if I looked like every other All American family? Wholesome and pure?” He tilts his head. “C’mon Laf. Would you like me better if I was white?” 

Alex is giving Lafayette a look.  _ If you fuck this up…. _ Clear on his face. 

Lafayette doesn’t understand why he’s so focused on this. The answer’s obvious. “I want  _ you, mon amour,  _ and any part of you that changed? Would change who you are. You are perfect now. Why would I want you to be any different?” 

John tilts his head a little. And Alex nods. Apparently he’d passed some unwritten test. 

“What’s going on with the  crêpes ?” John asks. 

Lafayette kisses John’s cheek once more. Closes his laptop, then steps up to the stove. “Who’s hungry?” he asks. He gets a chorus of replies. 

They’ll work out the rest later. Figure out how to smooth out John’s ruffled feathers. How to get everyone on a more even playing field. Whatever that may be.

For now, there's breakfast.


	3. Practice

Tara grabs hold of John’s arm as soon as he enters the room. “I’m  _ so  _ sorry O’Connor said that about you.” 

To be honest, John hasn’t thought about it in days. He’s been focused on other things. Mainly, everything Lafayette deemed necessary for him to focus on. They’d been training everyday since Regionals. And when they took a break, Alex or Aaron or Madison were there. Circling in and out. Madison helping him study for his finals. Aaron organizing it so he actually ate on a schedule. It’d been nice. 

Distracting. 

“It’s fine,” he tells Tara slowly.  “She tried her best?” It’s as nice as he can be about the whole situation. And it’s not exactly something that John’s proud of. Rita O’Connor has written dozens of articles on fencing. She’d been nice to him when he’d spoken to her. He hadn’t really thought anything of it when she said she wanted to write about his experience learning fencing. 

Should have known better. Really. 

“It’s total bull shit, I’m gonna talk to her about it—”

“—No, don’t. It’s all right. Really. It’s not worth it.” 

“Fine. But tell us the  _ moment  _ it’s not fine.” 

John nods and scurries off to get his uniform on. There’s something oddly calming about wearing his uniform. His knickers and jacket fit him like a glove. The tight fitting pull holds him tight. Keeps him in place. When he breathes, the weight settles on his shoulders and pull him down. Ground him in place. Pull the world into focus. 

He always puts the mask on last. Holds it in his hands until the last moment. Breathing in and out. Feeling the world fall into place. He ties his hair back into a ponytail. Scoops his bangs out of his eyes. Uses bobby-pins to lock down his bangs so they don’t fall forward once the mask goes on. 

Davis announces that there’s a few things they need to get done prior to practice starting. Ralph does his best to herd all the fencers into one arrangement. Tara flops down at John’s side. Leaning back on her arms into the bleacher behind her. John runs his fingers on the sides of his mask. Waiting as patiently as he can for the go ahead to get started. 

“So well done this year, boys and girls,” Davis announces. “Looks like we’re on our way to Nationals.” There’s an obligatory cheer, and John huffs. Shaking his head. “We’ve got a few things we need to get sorted before we go. Finals week is May 12 through 16th. Nationals start May 10th and go on through until the 14th. So you’re going to need to get your finals rearranged. Seniors, make sure you talk to your advisors so that you have everything taken care of for graduation  _ before  _ you leave. We’ll be heading out on the 9th, and spend the night in Atlanta. We’re going to be flying this time.” Davis hands a stack of papers to Ralph who quickly starts passing them out. 

John listens vaguely as he starts scanning the documents. He has four finals that need to get rescheduled. And the fifth he’ll most likely  _ want  _ to take early. Worrying about that prior to leaving for the trip? Not going to be fun. 

There’s an itinerary of things that he’ll need to bring with him. A list of things that he  _ can’t  _ bring with him. Another page lists emergency contact information and health insurance information in case there’s a medical issue that needs to be resolved. John hesitates when he looks at it. Biting his lip as he scans over the requested information. 

“Problem?” Tara asks as she leans closer. She’s whispering under her breath, and John shrugs. 

“Not really.” He’ll figure it out later. 

After practice at the very least. 

Davis finishes his round up, then sends them out to fall into position. The first half hour is predominantly drills. Stretches and lunges and formations. John leaves his mask on the bleachers and gets into line. 

Trying not to think about who he’s going to have to fill in and what he should do with his insurance card. 

***

When practice is over, he heads back home. Drops his gear beside the island. Paperwork settling on the countertop beside his keys. Lafayette comes down stairs and immediately scowls at the mess. “Always causing trouble,  _ mon amour,”  _ he mutters as he moves to shift them to the side. 

“It’s so much more fun that way,” John tells him easily. Lafayette pauses in his task. Glancing at John curiously. Head tilting to the side. It doesn’t take long for his expression to shift. Feral and instigating. 

Practice had been a nice warm up, but Davis never pushed it too hard. And he wouldn’t before Nationals. Not after their recent success. He’d want them prepared for anything, and not too sore to continue. 

But that’s not what John likes about practicing. And it’s certainly not what he’s interested in now. Lafayette snaps a hand out, far faster than the swing of a sabre or the flick of an epee. Fingers curl around John’s hair and jerk him forward. John ducks and sends an elbow into Lafayette’s side. 

He’s twisted about. Hair not released just yet. One punch two, he goes to knee Lafayette in the groin, and  _ that  _ gets him enough leverage to slide his arms around Lafayette’s waist and tug him to the ground. 

It’s been too easy, and John’s just about to comment on that when Lafayette’s fingers squeeze down on John’s sides. Grip tight as a vice, he bucks up and flips. Twisting John completely around. Pressed against the floor, Lafayette on top of him, John wheezes. Pressure against the back of his lungs just a bit too much for him to draw in an adequate breath. He tries to buck up, but Lafayette’s too heavy. Tries to send an arm back, but Lafayette just catches his wrist and locks it securely by John’s spine. 

The hand in his hair is back, pulling his head up, Jerking it so his neck is bending toward his ass. “Now, now,  _ mon amour,  _ That’s not very polite is it?” 

There are sharp sparks of pain flitting about his scalp. His eyes are starting to sting with tears. Unconsciously forming and without John’s permission. Lafayette’s got him pinned too securely. If he’d let John lay on his back, there were countless things John could do. But John’s got no leverage on his stomach. Especially not with Lafayette sitting on the small of his back. 

“Thought you wanted a real fight?” John wheezes. He tries bucking his hips. But it’s useless. 

There’s no point in trying to fight this. Not until Lafayette moves. He just has to shift. Just needs to move a little further to the left or to the right. Hell. Even put something near John’s mouth. He’ll bite it and the surprise alone would be enough to distract Lafayette. 

Heart pounding in his chest, John licks his lips. Eager and patient. Waiting for the exact moment when Lafayette would give him an opening. “I thought that  _ was  _ a real fight? Did you not try to hurt me? Hmm?” Lafayette leans forward. A little weight comes off John’s spine. 

And that’s it. 

John twists. Throws himself so hard to the right, that Lafayette tips to the side. His grip on John’s arm just helps spin them around. 

It’s a scramble. John pushes himself to his feet. Gets up and goes to aim a punch, bring it down on his lover. His  _ lover _ , who snatches the fist and whips it to the side. John’s falling again. This time, into a stool. It screeches unhappily against the floor, and John grumbles. Elbow hitting it just enough to send pins and needles down his arm.

“Poor, John Laurens,” Lafayette oozes. He stands and holds a hand for John to get up. Expression challenging the whole while. “Never ever the winner.” 

“Except at Regionals,” John sends back. He lifts his hand and accepts the help to get to his feet. Leans forward to kiss Lafayette fiercely before stepping back and rubbing at his arm. “That hurt,” he griped. 

“I’m sure,” Lafayette rolls his eyes. He turns his back and starts going to the kitchen, knowing John will follow him. “I have a casserole in the oven. Fifteen minutes or so?” 

“Thanks.” Stepping up to the fridge, he opens it and looks inside. Snatching a bottle of water out and popping the cap. “We’re flying to Atlanta for Nationals.” 

Lafayette hums his acknowledgement, distracted by whatever he’s been making in the kitchen. He opens the oven to check on dinner, nodding that his prediction was right. To be fair, John should have smelled dinner when he first walked in. It was good. A sort of cheesy garlic scent that makes his mouth water. 

“Don’t know if you’ll be able to make it. It’s finals week.” It’ll be the first time that Lafayette misses a match. Alex, Madison, and Aaron usually attempted to attend, but Regionals had been way too far, and Nationals is  _ definitely  _ a no go for them.

Alex is back in school full time now, and he can’t miss another class. John wouldn’t want him to. He’s been doing so good lately. Anything that takes away from that is immediately nerve-wracking and uncomfortable. He’s done too much to deserve something to go wrong because of John. 

“I can ask my Professors? Seeing as how I am your mascot after all.” John snorts. Rolls his eyes. That had been  _ one  _ joke that hadn’t been let go since the article came out. Madison in particular seemed to enjoy teasing Lafayette about it. 

For the most part, Lafayette seemed to be taking it in good humor too. Though John kept looking for signs that it truly bothered him. 

“You’re nobody’s mascot, O’Connor’s an idiot.” 

That earns him a tight squeeze on his hip and a kiss on his cheek. He twists his mouth to catch Lafayette’s lips. Grins when Lafayette presses him against the fridge. Kissing him harder. Biting his lip a little. “What shall you do without your pre-pool cuddles?” Lafayette bemoans sadly. 

“Don’t know.” And he doesn’t. 

Lafayette’s always been there. Sitting right beside or right behind him. Encouraging him. Telling him how well he’ll do. Giving advice or compliments. He even fetched food or snacks when John forgot to eat. Surprisingly helpful all things considered. John’s...not sure what he’s going to do with Lafayette there. And the thought is terrifying all of a sudden. 

He presses his lips together. Eyes flicking down and to the side. Maybe it  _ would  _ be a good idea for Lafayette to see if he could take his finals early? But no. He’s a senior now. That means that he’s going to have—  _ graduation.  _

“It’s not going to interfere with Graduation. I’ll still be at commencement. I—”

“—I believe you,” Lafayette tells him. He smiles. Shaking his head fondly. “It’s going to be fine. And even if it takes a few days longer, I believe you’ll be there. I trust you.” 

What a thing to say. 

Especially to someone like John. Licking his lips again, he mumbles through his next question. And Lafayette obviously doesn’t hear it. He leans in closer. Nudges John’s chin up with his fingers. They’re still rocking slightly against the fridge. Bodies pressed in nice and close. “ _ Quoi?”  _

“My emergency contact. I need one. For the trip. So they know who to call. Can I. You? I had Alex. Earlier. But. I. Do you—”

“Yes,” Lafayette says. Looking like he’s trying very hard not to laugh. “Of course, mon amour. Did you think I would not approve?” 

John doesn’t know what to think with Lafayette half the time. But at least for this one, he can sigh and relax. 

All right then. Lafayette goes on the form. 

That was easy. 


	4. Arrival

Two weeks after Regionals, and it feels as though time is slipping by at alarming rates. John is practicing every day, which leaves Lafayette to arrange things at home. John’s physical inability to get himself food unless that food is put directly front of him has become a great problem. One that Lafayette teases him about endlessly.

“You will starve in Atlanta. You will come back to me as nothing more than a skeleton. A tired, sleepy, skeleton,” he laments tragically. Dragging John down to sit with him on the couch. John wiggles and turns. Legs stretching out along the back of the couch. Head leaning up onto the arm rest.

Lafayette sprawls on top of him. Drags his fingers up and down John’s side. Tracing freckles along John’s cheeks and collarbones. “I won’t starve,” John promises.

“You must promise me,” Lafayette requests. Then, thinking better of it, he leans forward. Cups John’s chin and looks directly in John’s eyes.

John maintains eyecontact very rarely. Often flickering his eyes up to meet someone’s before dropping them to the side. He doesn’t like it. Doesn’t enjoy it. Finds it to be distracting and difficult to speak when he does it. Which only makes things worse, all things considered. John doesn’t like speaking nearly enough to partake in anything that makes speaking harder.

But John tries a little more with Lafayette. Will let the eye contact linger for at least five seconds before flickering away. Then back. Then away. Then back again. He’s doing his best now, and that’s fine. Lafayette only needs a few seconds. “You will eat. Three times a day. You will send me photos. Before and after.”

John’s lips quirk. He raises a brow. Shifts a little so their hips are pressing more firmly together. “Anything else, _Marquis?”_

Lafayette scowls at him. _No need to be rude._ Flicking John’s nose, he gives John’s hair a little tug. “Oui, now that you mention it.”

“Yes, Marquis?” John asks, fluttering his eyes. He’s sinking his voice to a breathy little pitch. Shifting his face a little. Playing Alex as he leans into the grip on his hair. Undulating a little to prove his point. “What else can I do for you today?”

“You will not lose.” John grins. Play-acting falling apart a little as his honest amusement shines through. He recuperates valiantly. But his eyes are just a touch too fond to be John’s attempt at Alex. Alex wouldn’t look at Lafayette like this. This is just John. And it’s everything Lafayette loves about him.

“I will not lose,” John repeats.

“You will not let _anyone_ touch you. You’re _mine.”_ Lafayette grinds into him. Pulls on his hair. John’s eyes flutter. Smile growing.

“Yours,” he repeats.

“For every touch someone gives you...I will take it back here. Are we clear, _Mon amour?_ Tara will send me your scorecard. _”_ John snorts. 

“I’ll send it to you myself. So you can imagine what to do with me when I get back.” He leans up, purposefully tugging his hair in Lafayette’s grip. Tracing his lips against Lafayette’s chin. “My dear... _dear...Marquis.”_

Lafayette jerks him closer. Is ready to tear this sweet little child completely apart when—

There's a knock at the door.

Lafayette stops. Hands still entangled in everything that is _John._ Mouth tugging down in a frown.

It knocks again.

John tilts his head back to see, but doesn't otherwise make any attempt to move. Another knock. Starting tentatively. Then growing louder. John shifts beneath him. "Gonna answer that?" he asks. Batting his eyes. _Vixen._

Scowling, Lafayette leans down to give John one final kiss. Then pulls away. Marching toward the door, John laughing behind him. Openly amused by his suffering. Whoever it is seems to have grown bolder. They knock harder this time, and Lafayette grumbles under his breath has he opens it.

_"Oui?"_

The girl on the other side of the door is pretty. Dark brown hair. Lithe frame. She even has a smattering of light freckles on her cheeks. Her hair is pulled back in a pony-tail. And she reached toward it, trying to flatten out the frizz. Like she was trying to make herself more presentable. "Is...um. John Laurens here?" she asks.

Lafayette turns his head. John's starting to sit up. He waits just long enough for John to stand and shift his clothes so he doesn't look _quite_ as rumpled, before opening the door a touch wider. Letting the girl lean forward to see.

John had been walking toward them, but the moment he catches sight of the girl, he freezes. Face draining of all blood. "Jack!" Lafayette's nearly trampled as the girl ducks under his arm, rushing to John like a blood hound. Her arms go up and around John's neck. He doesn't reciprocate.

If anything, his hands rose to stop her, then froze awkwardly in the air at the inevitable contact. They hover about her hips. Waiting in the air like a balloon losing steam. Slowly sinking back to the ground. Hovering in a state of denial.

Lafayette closes the door.

"I've been looking for you _forever!"_ the girl says. She pulls back. Cups John's face. He doesn't like that. Doesn't like to be grabbed suddenly. Unexpectedly. That he hasn't thrown the girl off him is more shocking than anything else so far. But John seems frozen in time. Lafayette doesn't even think he's breathing. He's just standing there. Hands still hovering.

" _Excusez-moi, mais qui êtes-vous?"_ Lafayette asks. He steps closer. Wondering if he should try prying the girl off him. Considering how tightly they're attached, he may need a spatula.

She twists her head. Flushes dark red. Her hands leave John's face, and it gives John an escape route. He takes it. Stepping back from her. Not too far. Not too much. But giving himself space. Aside from that, he still isn't showing signs of life. "I'm Jack's sister," she introduces brightly. Smiling like the world's just given her the one thing she wanted for Christmas.

"Jack," Lafayette repeats. John's cheek twitches. His head angles to the side. Staring at the couch. Of everything happening in this room, the couch hasn't changed a bit.

"Yes, Martha," she holds out her hand. Lafayette pauses. Then takes it. Gives it a polite shake. Dismissing him almost immediately, Martha turns back to _Jack._ Who's still staring at the lines on the couch as if they've somehow changed color and he can't determine which shade he prefers. "I tried calling. Did you change your number?"

John nods. He looks dazed. Concussed almost. Says, "While ago" with thick Southern drawl. As far as Lafayette knew, John's number never changed. It must have been more than two years ago then.

"Why didn't you give me your new one?" she asks. John shrugs. Doesn't reply. Some of Martha's exuberance has faded. Her smile's starting to slip. Even she's picking up on John's lack-luster reaction.

"It's been a busy time," Lafayette offers. He's steadfastly ignored. Martha doesn't even look his way.

"I...I sent you an invitation to my graduation?" She's really trying here. And it's starting to get painful to watch. "Did you...um...get it?"

The good news is, John's breathing again. He draws in breath just before Lafayette's certain he'll pass out. Some sort of reptilian center of the brain working overtime. Forcing John to remain upright even though he's given up the ghost.

Lafayette isn't even surprised when John manages a shaky nod. Yes. He got his sister's high school(?) graduation invitation. No. John didn't attend. Nor mention it. Martha's face crumples. Her shoulders sag. Lafayette wonders how long she'd convinced herself John hadn't attended because he hadn't gotten the letter. Hadn't known she'd wanted him there.

She puts on a big smile. "That's all right," she assures. "It's. Um. Fine?"

"Dad—" John breaks off. Licks his lips. "Dad told me not to go." It's clearly news to her. She stares at him. Mouth opening and closing. Fishlike.

"Why would he do that?" John shrugs again. The couch still captivating every bit of attention he has left.

Silence settles around them. Lafayette looks back and forth between them. John's a moment away from bolting. Familial loyalty? Or obligation? Is holding him in place. But there's a line of tension that's pulling him from top to bottom. A live wire sparking. Ready to arc.

Whether on accident or by design, John's conveniently left out any mention of his family in all their previous conversations. Vaguely, Lafayette recalls him mentioning his father. Usually on the heels of a panic attack or a grumbled dissent. Siblings though... _those_ had been lost somewhere in the abyss.

Not a naturally divulging human being, John's silence on the matter doesn't even mark as strange. His reaction now? Is a touch more. Lafayette clears his throat. "Would you like some tea, Martha?" the young girl finally manages to tear her eyes away from John. She's biting her lip. Shifting uncomfortably.

"Maybe...maybe I should just..." she trails off. Lifts a hand awkwardly and presses her fingers to her mouth. It almost makes Lafayette smile. He's seen John do the exact same thing.

"Take a seat Martha," Lafayette offers. He reaches around her and takes hold of John's wrist. "We'll be right back."

* * *

John goes willingly. He doesn't fight. Doesn't complain. Doesn't dig his heels in, or get a sudden desire to have a normal conversation with his little sister who clearly worked very hard to find him. Instead, he follows Lafayette with puppy-like determination.

When they're in the kitchen, though, he pulls his wrist free. Rubs at it anxiously as he keeps his gaze pointed at the ground. "Shall I have her leave?" Lafayette asks. Keeping his voice quiet enough that Martha won't hear.

John doesn't react. His mouth stays pointedly close. Lafayette can almost _see_ how hard John's heart's beating. Can almost make out the pulsing rhythm in John's carotid. Beating harder and harder with each passing second.

"Mon amour?" Lafayette asks.

It's tricky. All of this is tricky. John when he's truly anxious has a tendency to flee. To flee and hide somewhere he won't be found. Lock himself behind doors and stay there until his brain stops driving itself in circles. And in the absence of flight, John has a tendency to stay still. Eerily still. Waiting for the inevitable and accepting it when it arrives.

Passivity is not John's strong suit. Nor should it be. When it arrives, it's a harbinger of something subversive. And Lafayette hates playing twenty questions. He always loses.

 _"Mi padre no quiere que esté con ella."_ My father...doesn't...love...something? Lafayette shakes his head. He wishes Alex was here. Alex went back and forth between French, Spanish, and English with mindless ease.

 _"No entiendo,"_ is the best Lafayette can manage. He tries out his translation on John, who stares up at him blankly.

"What?"

"You said...what doesn't your father love?" Lafayette's starting to feel like they're having two different conversations. Especially when John's brows start furrowing. Blinking at Lafayette like _he's_ the one who lost his mind. "Quiere? That means 'love' right? You said—"

"—Want. _Te quiero_ is ‘I love you.’ Querer on its own is ‘to want.’ My father doesn't _want_ me to see her."

Lafayette sighs. "I don’t speak _fucking_ Spanish." To his credit, it actually earns him a weak smile in return. When he moves his arms to the side, John leans forward. Lets him hug him. Hold him close and squeeze. John squeezes back. Fierce and uncompromising.

Shifting so he has a hand at the back of John's skull, Lafayette presses John even tighter against his collarbone. "Do _you_ want to see her?" he asks slowly.

"Not allowed."

"Your father cannot control who you see in this house." If anyone thinks they can tell Lafayette who he can and cannot have in this house, he'll gladly escort them _elsewhere._ And why would John not be allowed to see his sister? It didn't make any sense.

"He'll _know._ "

"And what happens if he knows?" Lafayette asks. John laughs quietly against his chest. It's not a happy sound. It's not even an angry one. It's just defeated.

Lafayette can even guess what John's next response will be. Just barely managing to refrain from mouthing the words with him as he says, "I'm tired..."

"I know." He presses a kiss to John's head. "But your sister is here _now._ " Which means John can't just crawl into bed and go to sleep. Conveniently forget, come morning, that he and Lafayette had been speaking. Put an end to the conversation and breathe a sigh of relief that Lafayette's cognizant enough to know when John doesn't want to talk about something. Martha's in the other room this very second. Which means John needs to make a decision now. "What do you want to do?"

Martha should consider herself lucky.

John closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I...I want to get to know her."

So Lafayette nods, and promises that he won't let anything bad happen. Besides, he'd love it if their father came down to enforce his will. He'd _truly_ enjoy meeting the man.


	5. Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I always wanted a big brother..." Martha admits quietly. They're kids again. Not even teenagers. Playing field hockey together and running through the house while their father was out of town.
> 
> "I would have made a terrible big brother." She shakes her head. Stubborn. Just like he remembers her. "Probably would have spent half the time trying to scare you." Once the shock settled down. Once he felt relaxed. Once he could actually appreciate having a sister. He could see it. Could see them arguing. Could see, strangely, Alex spending time at their house – helping him prank Martha.
> 
> He could also see her joining in. Her walking to class with them. Her being his best friend even before he met Alex. He missed growing up with her.
> 
> He's going to miss growing old with her.

Lafayette set about making tea. Which left John....to slowly return to the living room. Martha's sitting on the couch. She'd rescued one of their throw pillows from where it'd been stuffed into the space between the cushions. Is now holding it against her chest. She looks...old. John saw her only a few months ago. A brief run-in while he'd been trying to get Lafayette a birthday present at Best Buy.

He hadn't really taken much time to recognize her. To memorize what she looked like. He doesn't really remember a lot about that day. Shameful as it is.

He has the time to look at her now, though. She's...not a child anymore. She's a woman fully grown. And a pretty one at that. John rubs at the back of his hand awkwardly for a few moments. Not sure what to say. Or what to do.

Everything in him is telling him to go. Leave. Walk upstairs. Send her away. This will be the end. This will be all they'll have. If he tells her to leave. She'll leave. He'll never see her again. Never hear from her again. She will have learned not to get in touch with him.

His anxiety will be over.

Replaced, instead, by guilt. Endless. Endless.  _ Guilt. _

"What...school are you going to?" John asks.

"William and Mary's." It's a good school. He tells her as much. She nods. She doesn't need his confirmation. She already knows.

It's foolish. Trying to do this. It's going to end badly. It's going to end with a phone call he doesn't want to listen to. An appearance he's not ready to handle. A fight he can't deal with. Doesn't  _ want  _ to deal with.

But.

Lafayette's right. Martha's here now. She's here and she's sitting on his couch. And no one's around. Nobody needs to know. He can have her here. And the rest of the world can be quiet. And so long as no one says anything to anyone...he can have this moment.

He steps forward. Travels the length of the living room until he's at the couch. Then sits. There's still space between them. But it's not much. She turns. Wiggles back so her back is on the arm rest. So she's looking at him directly. "I'm sorry...to barge in on you."

John laughs. The sound rises up in his throat, and he shakes his head wearily. Raising a hand to rub at his eyes. "You're...a lot like your mother."

Martha smiles. Pleased by the comparison. She should be. Samantha...had done her best by him. She'd done more than anyone else had before or since. Had tried when no one else bothered. Had kept right on trying for years afterward.

John received a card every year. A card and a couple hundred dollars. And when he'd been having trouble getting his FAFSA signed? All he knew was one day he'd called the house and she'd been there. And by the end of the phone conversation, she'd gotten his father to sign the paperwork and send it in so he could get aid.

She didn't have to do that.

But she did.

"I always wanted a big brother..." Martha admits quietly. They're kids again. Not even teenagers. Playing field hockey together and running through the house while their father was out of town.

"I would have made a terrible big brother." She shakes her head. Stubborn. Just like he remembers her. "Probably would have spent half the time trying to scare you." Once the shock settled down. Once he felt relaxed. Once he could actually appreciate having a sister. He could see it. Could see them arguing. Could see, strangely, Alex spending time at their house – helping him prank Martha.

He could also see her joining in. Her walking to class with them. Her being his best friend even before he met Alex. He missed growing up with her.

He's going to miss growing old with her.

"I'm not scared of anything." She tilts her chin up proud.

"I hope you never are." It's the truth. He hopes she's never in a position where she  _ needs  _ to be afraid of something. Where she goes home and is scared to interact with her own family because there's always a chance that  _ somehow _ she's done something wrong.

_ I'm nervous about leaving them alone together,  _ Samantha wrote to John once.  _ I'm worried he'll hurt her. _

In one of the few letters John ever wrote back, he made his point clear.  _ He loves his daughter. You don't have to worry about that. _

And apparently, she truly hadn't. 

Of all of his ex-wives, John felt pretty confident that his father had regretted losing Samantha and Martha the most. They'd been the family he wanted after he'd been tied down to John and John's mother. They'd been the wife and child he celebrated with the greatest of pride. The ones he always held as his greatest delights and joy.

They're the ones he blames John for losing, too. Though Samantha's made it abundantly clear over the years that it wasn't John's fault. She's a bit delusional if she actually believes that. John's never tried to argue the point with her.

Martha's still sitting there. Staring up at him with wide eyes. Biting her lip and looking for all the world like a woman on a mission. She wants to talk to him. Wants to have a conversation. But damn it...John has no idea what to say to her. "Do you still...play field hockey?"

It's like knocking over a pitcher full of water. All it needs is a gentle tap, then suddenly there's a flood. Washing over everything and making a mess. Martha  _ bounces  _ with excitement. Pulls out her phone and slides so close to John's arm that he can physically  _ feel  _ his brain recoil. Skin crawling as her fingers tap across the screen.

Here's her photo album. Her team last year. Her best friend. Here's everything they do together. The medals they won. The celebrations they had. Their father's in a lot of the shots. Their other siblings. It's the first time John really gets a chance to see them. Martha scrolls past the images of their brothers without much thought. They go by so quickly that John can only catch glimpses of them. Trying to divine personalities from half blurred images of tiny faces.

Samantha sends him pictures with her cards. Includes pertinent information that John wouldn't know otherwise. Sometimes he'd laugh at the commentary.  _ Your father married again. Here's the new one.  _ Sometimes he'd roll his eyes.  _ Dumb and blonde as always. Kid's sort of cute?  _ Sometimes he'd clutch the picture and bite his lip. Spend weeks wondering if he should respond. If he should go down there. If he should do something.  _ Junior's dyslexic. Should I be concerned? _

When John learned of  _ that  _ divorce, he'd breathed a sigh of relief. Okay. You're safe. That's good. He tries to see if Junior's okay in the pictures of him next to their father. The shying away is obvious. In your face. Blunt. But the abject devotion and willingness to do  _ anything  _ to gain approval? That's a little more subtle. John's seen it on his own face more often than not. He winces when he sees it on Junior's.

Is grateful that it's not on Jemmy's.  _ Think he’s finally happy about something,  _ Samantha had written. And Jem is someone to be proud of. He's a cute boy. Bright blue eyes. Big smile. He's still a toddler. But in every picture of him, he's cuddling his siblings. His father. His mother. John wishes him luck. Even as Martha scrolls his picture to the left.

"That's when dad took us to Ricco's after we won state."

"That's when we went to Battery Park."

"That's after Jemmy's accident."

The nausea comes so fast, John nearly hurls on the spot. Bile fills his mouth, and he chokes. Lifts one hand to hold it back even as he struggles to swallow. To keep it all down. The same happy baby he'd seen only nine pictures previously had a cast on his tiny arm. A bruise on his cheek. "He fell off the swing," Martha explains.

John shakes his head. Pushes himself up from the couch.

He barely makes it to the bathroom in time. Choking and coughing. Breathing in sick while his stomach rebels more and more. Someone's talking. French and English mix together. A door slams shut, John flinches. Tries to back away, but he can't.

And there's something there, someone's too close. Someone's—

John's physically lifted and repositioned. Head held into place over the toilet bowl, hair pulled out of the way. Quiet French is being repeated in his ear. Rolling cautiously through valleys and hills.

He can't do this. He can't. Make her leave. Make her leave.  _ He doesn't want her here.  _ He can't do this, and having her here is just going to make everything so much worse. He can't think when she's here. He can't focus. He's going to throw up again. He needs to get out of this house. He needs to—

"—amour? Mon amour, breathe for me? S'il te plait?" He's  _ trying,  _ God damn it. Doesn't he know he's trying? Doesn't he fucking—"If you can curse you can breathe," Lafayette tells him patiently, pressing his hand tight against the back of John's neck. Squeezing it. His thumb shifts back and forth. Stroking the sides of John's head.

"Stop-stop-stop touching me." He's released immediately. But Lafayette doesn't move. Doesn't shift from where he's kneeling on the cold tile floor. John's shaking. He slams his head back against the wall behind him. He does it again. Pain blocking out the whirring mess his brain is conjuring. Sentencing it to an abyss to deal with later. He does it a third time.

After the fourth, Lafayette's patience expires. "If you do that again, I'm going to restrain you." Knees pulled up to his chest, John ducks his head low. Hands folded along the back of his head. Forearms bracketing him in place. Blocking out his ears. "Are we done? Shall I have Miss Martha leave?"

Jemmy's broken arm flashes before his eyes again, and John heaves. There's nothing left for him to give. But he heaves anyway. Coughing and choking. Unable to stop. "Jack...?" John flinches. Lifts his head up to blink at his little sister. And this isn't  _ fair.  _ This is his house. This is his house, and he doesn't want to feel this way here.

He doesn't want to—

"—Leave," Lafayette orders. "Now."

"You don't get to tell me what to do," Martha snaps back.  _ Oh fuck no. _ John cannot handle the two of them arguing right now.

"Oh I don't?" He doesn't  _ want  _ to. He can feel Lafayette's patience snapping like a rubber band. Coiled and ready to let loose.

"No, you  _ don't.  _ John's  _ my  _ brother."

Lafayette  _ hates  _ it when John's like this. He's always so careful and tender to John when it happens, but John's seen him react when he knows the cause. "And he is  _ my amour _ ."

If Lafayette knows what sent any of them into panic attacks, he addresses it immediately. And usually it isn't good for whatever started it. Even now, he's zeroing in on Martha like she's the one somehow responsible for all of this.

"That doesn't mean  _ anything! _ "And damn it all, John's head is spinning too much to try to eloquently explain this away.

"It means more than—" John grabs hold of Lafayette's wrist. Squeezes it as hard as he physically can. Wishing he knew Martha well enough to tell her to  _ shut up. _

" _ Than what?  _ Than me?" Martha's stalking forward. Towering over them both. It takes everything he has not to flinch. Memories are colliding in his head, and John's losing control of all of them. His father's standing over him. The tub's running. Jemmy's got a broken arm. John knew there'd been another divorce. Martha's shouting. He squeezes Lafayette's wrist even tighter. Bones move under his grip.

"You need to leave this room," Lafayette grits out. As calmly and as patiently as John believes he's physically capable.

Martha's not used to commands. Not used to being told what's what. Being told how to act. How to behave. Which way to go. She'd been spoiled as a child, and she's spoiled now. John's stomach is gurgling loudly within him. He's so incredibly dizzy. "I'm not leaving unless Jack tells me otherwise."

Whatever John might have managed to vocalize is cut abruptly short. A door opens downstairs, and Alex shouts inside. "John! Madison let me buy gummy worms, I'm making dirt cakes!"

John releases Lafayette's wrist, and his boyfriend  _ goes.  _ Shoving past Martha and rounding the bend. "Little Alex, now is not the best time..."

Like that's going to do anything except make this situation worse. John can already hear Alex questioning what's going on.

John lifts a hand to his face. Wiping it down. Trying to hide the tears. Martha steps in closer. He flinches away. She freezes. Hand outstretched toward him. There's footsteps plodding closer. Either Alex gave Lafayette the slip, or Lafayette let him. Thinking Alex would help.

Hell. He probably would.

Alex rounds the bend. Takes one good look at everything, and shoves a bag of gummy worms in Martha's face. "You're making the dirt cake," he decrees. "Lafayette's got the pans." Then, he promptly shoves her out of the bathroom and locks the door behind her.


	6. Rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It feels like a train is plowing its way through Lafayette's rib cage. Madison points. "Go hit something." He does. Not because Madison told him to, but because if he stands in front of Madison one moment longer he's going to kill him.

Lafayette stares at Martha. She stares right back. Both of them are shamelessly standing outside of the bathroom door, listening as Alex talks a mile a minute. Once the door clicked shut behind him, he'd gone off on a tirade. Showing no signs of stopping any time soon. Hugging the bag of gummy worms close to her chest, Martha looks more out of place than ever before.

"Who was that?" Martha asks. She squeezes the bag tight. Lafayette resists the urge to bare his teeth at her. See if that'll frighten her. It's not polite. It's not a nice thing to do.

Instead, he turns on his heel. Little Alex want his dirt cakes, and so that's what Little Alex is going to get. If he can get John to calm down, then he can have dirt cakes every day for the rest of his life.

There's a brief pause.

Then Martha follows after him.

She walks slowly. Footsteps uncertain. Glancing back toward the bathroom as if John and Alex are going to emerge at any moment. _Tough luck, sweetheart,_ Lafayette thinks cruelly. _That's not going to happen._

Neither Alex nor John are going to reappear any time soon. They’re probably already curled up side by side, Alex still talking non-stop in an effort to chatter the anxiety away. Stroking John’s hair and hugging him close. John’ll be clinging to Alex. Refusing to let him go. Desperate for contact.

But Martha’s floating in the meanwhile. With no concept of where she should go or what she should do. She asks, "Is he sick?" Because clearly that's the answer to this. That's the reason their weekend has been disturbed. That's why John's losing his mind. He's _sick._ Lafayette says as much to Martha, who clenches her fingers around Alex's worms. Snapping back, "You're being _rude,"_ even as she puts the worms on the table. Crosses her arms. Like a child.

" _I'm_ being rude?" That's rich. Coming from her. After what she's done so far.

"Yes. _You're_ being rude. You don't have to talk to me like that, I'm jus—"

Lafayette slams his hands on the counter. His palm hits a spoon, sending it flipping into the sink. He's going to break something. If he needs to stand here one moment longer. He's going to break something. And it's entirely impolite to _break_ houseguests. But if Martha keeps at it he' going to do something he regrets.

The front door opens _again,_ and Lafayette wonders just when his house turned into Grand Central Station. People coming and going as they please. He's glad for it though. Because when he turns to see who it is. When he turns to explode at _whoever_ decided to add onto this mess, it's Aaron and Madison. And both of them look like someone had filled them in already.

"Laf...why don't you come with me for a bit, yeah?" Madison asks smoothly, nodding his head toward Martha. Lafayette squeezes his hands into fists. Nails bite into his palms.

"Who are you?" Martha asks. And _oh goody_. Her hackles are still raised. Her chin's tilted up defiantly. She's got whatever strange genetic sequence John that plows her head first into danger. Reckless and violent.

"We're...friends," Aaron explains coolly. He moves a little. Providing an opening in the doorway for Lafayette to leave through. "Alex asked us to swing back."

That explains how they got here so quick. They'd only just dropped Alex off a few minutes ago. "He send an SOS?" Lafayette asks sharply.

"Something like that," Aaron confirms. Lafayette wonders what it said.

"C'mon. Let's go downstairs, yeah?"

Irritation rears its ugly head. He's not a _child_ to be managed. This is _his_ house. He'd just finished telling John that he didn't need to be afraid in this house. Lafayette does _not_ need to be micro-managed. "What is going on?" Martha asks.

Every part of her is on the offensive. And it's almost funny. Seeing this tiny little white girl getting in Madison's face. Even Madison looks amused by it. Aaron cuts in before either of them can get a chance to cut her down to size. It's probably for the best too. Lafayette has no intentions of being tactful about it. "John had a panic attack," Aaron says calmly.

Martha blinks. Actually looking a bit taken aback. "A what?"

For a moment...Lafayette's relatively certain none of them have a pithy response. Considering the past two years...everyone's thoroughly had a chance to get intimately familiar with each other's mental states. Alex may have started the tidal wave of everyone _talking_ about their feelings. But John's anxiety stopped being a strange happenstance for everyone _last_ _August._

And Alex has been more than familiar with it for years. Even if he still didn't always know how to help.

"Panic attack?" Aaron repeats, frowning and glancing toward Madison in confusion. As if their resident Master of Siblings had an explanation for why _John's_ sibling seemed so dense. Madison even starts to explain, trying to go through what a panic attack actually was and what the symptoms were.

But Martha doesn't give him time to finish. Just shakes her head. Points vaguely toward the bathroom John's locked in. _"Why_ did he have one?"

"You know," Lafayette drawls. "That's an _excellent_ question. What did you do?"

Madison groans. "Laf..."

"What exactly caused this? He was not happy, but he was not _this bad_ , so what did you do?"

" _Nothing!_ I was showing him pictures!" She pulls her phone out of her pocket. Holds it up as exhibit A. Aaron coughs politely.

"Do you mind if I...?" She shoves it at him. _For the love of—_ Madison steps past her and stands in front of Lafayette. Putting a body between him and her.

"Calm down," Madison orders firmly.

"Do not tell me to—"

"—This was the last picture you showed him?" Aaron's voice cuts in. Aaron's holding up the phone. There's a little boy on the screen. Freckles. Pale cheeks. He's got a cast on his arm. Is sitting on an older child's lap. Both of them on a set of bleachers.

"Yeah?" Martha shrugs. "They're our brothers. Jemmy and Junior."

Apparently John's got _a lot_ of siblings he'd never mentioned. Lafayette grits his teeth. Grinding them down so hard they pop. Aaron's expression is neutral, though. Neutral as he passes the phone for Madison to look at. For Madison to show to Lafayette. He leans closer. Squinting at the small image. "You're all...siblings?" Madison asks slowly.

Her arms cross. Lips purse. "Is that a _problem?"_

"You're very white," Madison shrugs.

"And you're _very rude._ John's my brother and if you thin—"

"—I ain't sayin' shit, lady," Madison cuts in. "I'm saying he doesn't exactly fit in with your family photo."

" _So what?"_

"So why haven't any of us heard of you before?"

Martha recoils. Her eyes fill with tears. Aaron sighs and mutters something about tact, and Madison snaps something back. Lafayette's still looking at the photo. While their own arguments start to devolve, Lafayette's having a hard time looking away. _Jemmy and Junior..._ "How did your brother break his arm?" he asks quietly.

Martha blinks. Holds out her hand for the phone. "He fell."

_Fell down the stairs._

_Walked into a door._

_Just clumsy._

_You know how it is._

"I'm sure." Lafayette hands the phone back.

Martha shakes her head. She's pale. Ghostly pale. "You don't know what you're talking about. Jemmy fell. It was an accident. I don't like you imply—"

"—Your brother, who has never mentioned you or your siblings before, who showed no signs of anxiety before you arrived, who just said your _father_ told him not to attend your graduation, who said that _same_ father told him he's not allowed to see you _at all,_ just had a _panic attack_ looking at a picture of a toddler. I'm _sure_ he believes _Jemmy_ just fell."

Madison places a hand against Lafayette's chest. Lightly pressing him back. Pushing him to the side. He's telling Lafayette to calm down. But he doesn't want to. There's blood in the water and she's finally on the defense. Finally starting to see what everyone else could see the moment she showed them her phone.

 _Merde._ Madison had even put two and two together from John's question from _days_ ago. _Would you like me better if I were white?_

And Alex had likely known for ages. Had waited on baited breath, even then, for Lafayette's response.

They all _knew._

They'd all spent two years with John and Alex. And even though John had never said a word about any of this, they still were able to piece two and two together. Were still able to take what they knew and apply it here. _Damn it all._

How could she not _know?_ How could she not see what was so clearly in front of her face? What everyone else managed to piece together in moments?

"Are you really that stupid?" Lafayette hisses.

"That's enough!" Madison barks. "That's enough." Stepping back, he pulls Lafayette after him. "Aaron, you got—"

"—Yes," Aaron nods. He moves a little further back and it gives Madison enough room to drag Lafayette from the kitchen. Toward the basement door where he shoves him forward. Aaron staying behind to handle whatever's left of Martha's precious feelings. As if she was the most important person in the room right now.

As if John's not—

"—John's _fine._ John's here. He's with Alex, and you need to _calm down_ , because you're making things worse."

" _Do not_ tell me what to do," Lafayette growls out. He lets Madison herd him down the stairs, but that's it. He's not going to be pushed around one second longer. He's _done._

"You remember when John came home? Had that panic attack last ye—"

"—After he saw his _father_ at a store? And he _ran away?_ "

"Yes. _After_ that. You remember what you did? You sat the fuck down and you focused on _him._ Because _he_ needed you to be calm. And right now— _you're_ throwing a God damned fit, and you've got John's sister crying in your kitchen, and _him_ a mess in the bathroom. So _calm the fuck down."_

It feels like a train is plowing its way through Lafayette's rib cage. Madison points. "Go hit something." He does. Not because Madison _told_ him to, but because if he stands in front of Madison one moment longer he's going to kill him.


	7. Miscommunications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My father has no problem with Mexicans or blacks!”
> 
> “Good for the fucking Mexicans, because I’m Puerto Rican!” John spits out, temper flaring. Martha recoils. Eyes wide.

It’s late by the time Alex leads John out of the bathroom. They spent hours in there together. John not having to say or do anything except press against Alex’s side and breathe in and out. He didn’t have to move. Didn’t have to respond. Just had to breathe. Alex hugged him close. Pressed his head against John’s chest and squeezed in tight. John curled around him, and just listened as Alex rambled. 

“Did you know that….” for hours. John could just sit there and hold onto Alex, and everything was fine. Aaron and Mads could take care of Lafayette and Martha. He could stay in the bathroom and be fine. 

“Are you going to be okay?” Alex asked after the sun started setting. John shook his head. He didn’t know. But when Alex stood, he let Alex lead him to the door. Let him lead him downstairs. 

Martha and Aaron are in the kitchen together. Dirt cakes in pails set between them. Worms just visible. Alex’s hand squeezes around John’s. John squeezes back. “Where’s Laf?” Alex asks. Aaron directs them to the basement. 

Not that he needed to. It seems that as soon as Alex spoke, Lafayette heard them. Started coming up the stairs. He meets them in the hallway. Eyes going to John immediately. He’s stressed. Unhappy. Trying to look like he’s going to be okay with everything. “Mon amour?” he asks tentatively.

John bites his lip, squeezes Alex’s hand one last time before transitioning to Lafayette. He knows Martha’s watching. Knows that even though she’s being really quiet right now, at any moment this whole shit-show could start right back up again. 

John doesn’t know what to say, though. Can’t form the words appropriately. Can’t piece together what he even wants out of all of this. He just wanted to have a good day with Lafayette. Practice fencing. Maybe roll around. Fight Lafayette or Alex for a while. Come down feeling warm and good. 

Wake up and repeat process. Get through finals. Get through Nationals. 

He didn’t want to think about his siblings. About his father. “Do you feel up to talking?” Aaron asks gently. He’d defend John’s choice. Whatever it is. John’s seen him work with Alex long enough to know that he’d let John choose whatever he wanted and it’d be okay. He’d give John space to leave. Let him turn his back on this conversation if he needed to. Let him run away. Face his problems another day. 

But Martha...doesn’t deserve that. 

“I’m sorry…” he says. The words forcing themselves past his lips. “That was...rude…” running away. Hiding. Locking himself up. Flinching when she came to him. Leaning on Alex and Lafayette instead of talking to her directly. Instead of being a real man. 

“I just don’t understand,” Martha admits. She’s biting her lip. Looking uncertain. Hugging her arms in front of her chest. John’s trying not to look at her. Trying not to think of her. He’s staring at Lafayette’s face. Lafayette, who has never made him do anything he didn’t want to do. Who’s always been there for him. Who’s always given him an option. Even if that option defied social norms. 

“You don’t have to do this now,” Lafayette tells him. It’s true. They could put this off. Put this off tonight. Then put it off tomorrow. Then put it off the next day. Because that’s easier. Easier than doing it now. Easier than getting it all out in the open.

John’s raw. He’s spread open. He’s tired. He’s drained. He’s lost so much, that there’s a wave of apathy riding him now from start to finish. If he does this now, he doesn’t know if he’ll feel the emotional impact. Doesn’t know if it’ll make it better, but it’ll be easier than if he was feeling it every step of the way. 

But he doesn’t have enough hormones in his body to set off another anxiety attack. Not so soon after the last one. 

At least that’s his theory. 

He takes Lafayette’s hand and walks him to the table. Sits down. Alex squeezes in next to him. Madison loops about the other side. Martha sits, looking like a PSA poster on the subway. Pretty little white girl surrounded by three black men and two latinos. Tagline:  _ If you see something, say something.  _ Written in bold print underneath. 

“I...wasn’t expecting to see you…” John mumbles. Martha squeezes her arms tighter. Her lips are pressed into a thin white line. He stares down at his hands. Thumb rubbing against the skin above his knuckles. 

“Do you even want me here?” she asks. 

“No,” he replies softly. Martha recoils. Like she should.  _ Asshole!  _ He squeezes his thumb down on his knuckles. “That’s not...that’s not what I…” he grimaces. 

“Fine. I’ll just—” she’s standing up. Tears in her eyes. John stands too. This is devolving far faster than he ever wanted. He just wanted. He just wanted. He looks at Aaron helplessly. 

Aaron sighs. Raises his hands in mock surrender. Placating and tactful. “John’s not very comfortable with  _ anyone  _ coming into his life unexpectedly. It’s nothing against you. Please sit.” 

“If he doesn’t want me here, then—”

“—I do. I do. I just. I have. It’s hard to.” John can’t figure out where to start. Where to go from here. He was wrong. Apathy isn’t helping this. It’s quickly sliding back into anxiety. He’s going to cry again. In front of everyone. And that’s not fair. 

None of this is  _ fucking  _ fair. He doesn’t cry in front of Aaron and Mads. He just doesn’t. He’s not a child. He’s not Alex. He doesn’t cry at every little thing. He’s fully capable of managing on his own. And he doesn’t need help. He shouldn’t need help. He should be able to have a Goddamn conversation with his little sister without everything devolving into broken pieces and fragments. 

“John wants you here. He’s scared of your father finding out,” Alex translates quietly. Lafayette lets out a quiet, disgruntled growl to John’s left, and Aaron and Madison are sharing a look. 

“Because our father apparently  _ beat  _ Jemmy?” Martha growls. And  _ fuck.  _ The moment the words leave her mouth, John can’t breathe again. 

_ (“This is all your fault”) _

_ (“How could you do this to me?”) _

_ ( “I killed him. I fucking killed him.”) _

_ (“What the hell do I do?”) _

Lafayette’s hand’s at the back of John’s neck. It’s squeezing down hard. Dragging him back down so he’s sitting. Someone presses a hot mug of tea into his hand. He cups it unconsciously. Feels the steam floating up. The heat circulating through his body. “Can we...try to not trigger another panic attack?” Aaron asks firmly.

“Did he hit you?” Martha asks regardless. It seems like everyone’s waiting for a response. Waiting for John to go one way or another. He’s shivering. Stomach is getting ready to heave. He knows it’s a parasympathetic response. There’s nothing in him to throw up. There’s nothing more to give. He sniffs loudly. Casts a brief glance to Alex. Desperate.

Chewing a nail between this teeth, Alex nods. “Yes,” he says slowly. Drawing Martha’s gaze back to him. 

“I...I’m sorry...who are…?” She sounds like she can’t quite piece together what’s going on. 

“Alex? Um. We went to school together. High school, I mean. We’ve been friends for six years.” he waves his fingers awkwardly. “Your. Um. Dad? He…” he glances back at John helplessly. And it’s all John can do to just lift his hand. Motion vaguely for Alex to continue. Because  _ John  _ certainly can’t get it out right now, and Martha’s asking. Wants to know. “He. Um. Yeah. To John? Hit him? A lot? But that was before he, um, just sent John away to live by himself. He’s been pretty absentee since. Except. You know. The few times he showed up here or there.”

Making John miserable every time. 

Martha looks like she might be sick herself. “Why would he...he’s never...dad’s not like that.” 

“To you,” John manages to get out. “And that’s good. That’s good. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t to you. That’s fine. It’s just. It happened, and I just...don’t do a lot of...things. With him.” 

There’s a long moment where no one says anything. Where Martha just stares at John. Eyes wide. Hand slowly raising to cover her mouth. “Mom knew…” She whispers. John twists his head away. Stares down at the split wood on the table. Following the grain’s flow with his eyes. “Mom knew. She found out...when you stayed with us that week.” 

“Yeah.” 

“That’s why the...the divorce...and...you were in the hospital th—”

“—He  _ hospitalized  _ you?” Lafayette asks, sitting up a little in his chair. John grimaces. 

“It was a long time ago. It wasn’t that bad.”

“You were there for a week,” Martha murmurs. She sounds dazed. Like she’s narrating a memory she’s reviewing on playback. Watching scenes flash before her eyes. Pointillism coming into focus for the very first time. 

“A  _ week?”  _ That’s Madison. And John feels like a bandaid being torn off too slow. As though everyone’s slowly gaining access to this wound without just accepting it in unison. Peroxide being poured onto open flesh, biting at the nerves and the blood, but not settling or healing. Just biting.

Biting. 

“I hit my hea—”

“—Try rephrasing that,” Aaron suggests. It’s as close to pissed as Aaron likely will get. His own agitation rising in a way that John’s not entirely comfortable with. Aaron’s supposed to be the calm one. The collected one. The sensible one that keeps the rest of them in line. Keeps the rest of them from doing things they regret. 

John needs Aaron to stay calm. Because if Aaron’s  _ not  _ calm, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do. Doesn’t know what he’s going to say. But he knows what Aaron wants. Knows what he needs John to say. What they’ve worked with Alex on saying when Alex blames himself for things that aren’t his fault. It’s just...John’s never said this before. At least not where anyone could hear him. “ _ He  _ hit me in the head. It was an accident. I fell wrong.” 

Martha stares at him. “You said you fell in the shower.” Then, she frowns. “I remember...the paramedics found you in the shower.” 

He doesn’t know what to tell her. Doesn’t know what to say. How to say it. He nods his head slowly. “They did.” 

They found him in the shower after his father put him there. Staged a scene so it looked innocent. So no one thought twice about the bloodstained car where he’d been dragged originally. So no one looked too much at the counter top that still had a skid of flesh on it by the time John came back from the hospital. 

“I don’t understand,” Martha whispers. John lifts a hand unconsciously to to his head. Rubs along the scar beneath his hair. Mouth pressed in a thin line. He can feel Lafayette’s eyes on him. Can feel his anxiety starting to grow. 

“I...he didn’t...it’s easier...to just...explain? Falling in the shower? When the medics needed to get called in? I just...I think he thought it would be...better?” 

“They had police. You didn’t say anything.” Martha’s shaking her head. “I remember police there.” 

Lafayette’s murmuring quietly under his breath. French words flowing one right into the other. Alex is glancing toward him. Listening. Translating to himself. He hasn’t shared with the class, or responded, so John doesn’t ask. Doesn’t really want to know. He can guess, based on the tone, that Lafayette’s not pleased. 

A part of John is entirely too pleased by the notion that Lafayette is upset. Can imagine him tearing his father apart in vengeance. And it’s a fascinating trail to follow. Might even be worth listening to Lafayette tell him what he’d do, if only to give John a sense of satisfaction about the whole day. Not that Lafayette will ever interact with Henry Laurens. 

At least. John  _ hopes  _ not. 

But Lafayette’s possessive. And when he reaches out to thread their fingers together, it’s easy enough to sag closer to Lafayette’s body. Know that the man’s angry on his behalf. Knows that Lafayette meant every word. He’s not going to let anything happen to John. 

He’s not going to let anything happen. 

“It’s hard…” Aaron says softly. “It can be hard for someone in a bad situation to seek help from authority figures who they don’t trust…”

“Why wouldn’t you trust the police?” 

John actually  _ laughs  _ at that. And that’s not entirely appropriate, but Martha’s getting the same expression from every single one of John’s friends. He can’t help himself. Madison and Aaron both look a little scandalized. Alex, even as fragile as he’s been this past year, seems ready to roll back the clock to a time before Jefferson just to give Martha a smackdown on police/racial politics of the 21st century. 

And Lafayette, their  _ foreign  _ exchange student, who flat out said not too long ago that he honestly didn’t understand American racism and how it go this far, has little to no problem tapping into it and recognizing it for what it is. He’s the first to use it as an excuse when he’s treated poorly. The first to bring it up if it’s going to distract someone from another issue. The first to call attention to it and how —  _ things are different in France.  _

_ (“In France, if you speak French and act French, you are treated as French. What should it matter how you look, non?”) _

While some of the peculiarities of America’s race issue still sometimes escaped Lafayette, he didn’t deny that they existed. Particularly when he couldn’t get a cab in the city, or when he was continually ignored or talked down to. 

Alex licked his lips. Leaned forward in his seat. “Maybe if the police actually ever  _ did  _ anything for any of us, we’d actually feel inclined to say something.” 

Martha looked completely taken aback by the comment. Blinking rapidly and looking between them all. Like a witness testifying before a team of prosecutors. Struggling to give her testimony. Struggling to be heard. “I didn’t mean...I—mom asked you to stay with us.” 

There isn’t a good way to explain this. He  _ knows  _ Samantha tried. But...barring telling the truth about what happened, there’d been no way to convince a jury to let him leave his father’s care. “Your mother couldn’t get custody. She didn’t adopt me when she got married. There was no reason for her to keep me.” 

“You didn’t say dad did anything to you!” 

“No. I didn’t.” And there was no point in belaboring it. There truly wasn’t. The end result was this. “After...I moved to New York? Dad set me up with an apartment up there, and I met Alex in high school and—”

“—Why didn’t he just send you to boarding school? Instead of the apartment?” John stares at her. He’d wondered that for years. It’d be the most ethical. That was for certain. But, “I’d have to come home on weekends, holidays and breaks,” is the answer he came up with. “He didn’t want me home. Near...you or the others.” 

“ _ Why?”  _

“You might be colorblind,” Alex cut in. “But that doesn’t mean your father is.” 

“My father has no problem with Mexicans or blacks!”

“Good for the fucking  _ Mexicans,  _ because  _ I’m  _ Puerto Rican!” John spits out, temper flaring. Martha recoils. Eyes wide. 

“I-I didn’t mean—” she can’t seem to finish her statement. Too stunned to say anything. Which is  _ fine,  _ because John’s suddenly got no end of things to say. 

“Let’s do a crash course right here,  _ I’m Puerto Rican.  _ My Mother’s from Vega Alta. She came over when she was fourteen because her family wanted to get her an education on the mainland. She worked four jobs. One of which was as a housekeeper to  _ our father.  _ They got married in secret because they were so in  _ love  _ the color of her skin and her heritage didn’t matter. Until it  _ fucking did.  _ You’re less than a year younger than me,  _ Marty,  _ exactly how long do you think dear old Dad felt great about me and my mother?” 

“John…” Aaron murmurs softly. He doesn’t care. He’s not interested. He’s finally got momentum to move forward, so he’s going to move forward, damn it. 

“My mother died when I was  _ nine,  _ and he shipped me out to stay alone ever since. And I’m sure you were  _ real  _ happy when you got moved into the mansion. I bet you really liked living there. And I’m sure Junior and Jemmy did too. For what it’s worth — I’m sorry that that  _ bastard  _ couldn’t keep his shit together enough to not, you know, knock his children around or screw about on their mothers. But he wants the perfect fucking kid, and it sure as shit wasn’t going to be his  _ gay  _ latino brat. At least if I’d been a bastard he could have really pretended I wasn’t his. But I wasn’t. And he got to fucking  _ live  _ with that when your mother found out what he did.” 

Martha’s crying again, and John slumps back in his chair. 

He shouldn’t have said anything. Shouldn’t have come down. All he’s done is made this fucking situation so much worse. No one’s talking. No one’s saying a word. And John’s sick of it. He really is. He clenches his hands into fists. “Nothing to say?” he asks sharply. 

“I have something to say,” Aaron intercedes. “It’s late. Why don’t we continue this in the morning.” 

“Fine. You can use the guest room.” John shoves away from the table as Madison tries to help calm Martha down. 

John sighs. 

Well. Things probably aren’t going to get much worse at least. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick Note: 
> 
> Lafayette's opinions of race in this chapter are extremely biased. He's viewing the world from rose colored glasses. Coming from French aristocracy, and having a very sheltered view point, he is not a reliable narrator here. 
> 
> France does have a great deal of racism. They're not exempt. But Lafayette's enjoying playing the "Your country is so much worse than mine, in my country things are better!" card.


	8. Samantha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I yelled at her.”
> 
> “Mon amour, that is not yelling. I have seen you yelling. You were upset. You told a truth. That is it. She cried because she did not know. Because she is frustrated. Because she wishes she had known sooner. You have not fucked anything up.”
> 
> John just squeezes Lafayette closer.
> 
> He doesn’t believe him. Lafayette doubts he ever will. But for now, Lafayette can stroke a hand through John’s hair. He can press his lips to John’s forehead. He can hold him close and try to make it better.

Lafayette lets John leave. Lets him go upstairs to cool off. His own agitation hasn’t ended at all, but it’s been redirected at least. Martha has no idea what she’s talking about. Martha’s a young girl who had been kept entirely in the dark about her family’s dark history. Martha’s been raised in a very closed community with no chance for a multicultural perspective, except for her household’s staff. Apparently. 

“I don’t...I didn’t...my mother never told me…” 

“John and Samantha didn’t think you needed to know,” Alex mutters. Lafayette casts a glance toward him. Briefly. He wants to follow John upstairs. Wants to see him working for himself. Wants to see him. Hold him. Press his lips to John’s throat and feel it beat against his touch. 

“Why? Why would he…?” She wipes at her eyes. “I should just go.” 

“Don’t. He’s...He wants to know you. He’s upset. He’s scared.” Alex bites at his thumb nail again. “He’s...he just needs a little bit to figure this out?” 

“I can set you up in the guest room,” Madison offers again. Martha nods. Quietly thanks him. Follows him as he leads her out. 

“Are you going to be okay with John?” Aaron asks Lafayette slowly. 

“I’ll be fine.” He will. He knows exactly what to do. Knows exactly how to talk to John. This will be fine.  _ They  _ will be fine. He just. Needs to go there. Go to him. Now. “You can...stay if…” 

“We’ll figure it out,” Aaron promises. Lafayette’s grateful. 

With how upset both he and John are...having the three of them at the house is better than not. Bidding them good night, he departs. Heading up the stairs and past the guest room so he can open their bedroom door. 

John’s curled under the blankets already. Head tucked under the duvet. Breathing slowly. Not sleeping, but not crying either. Processing most likely. 

Lafayette crawls under the covers and gently nudges John’s shoulder. Sighs when John rolls over, so he’s curled around Lafayette’s body. Head pressed against Lafayette’s shoulder. “You’re okay,” Lafayette murmurs against John’s curls. “You’re okay.” 

“I fucked it up,” John whispers. “I fucked this whole thing up.” 

“She needed to know.” 

“I yelled at her.” 

_ “Mon amour,  _ that is not yelling. I have seen you yelling. You were upset. You told a truth. That is it. She cried because she did not know. Because she is frustrated. Because she wishes she had known sooner. You have not fucked  _ anything  _ up.” 

John just squeezes Lafayette closer. 

He doesn’t believe him. Lafayette doubts he ever will. But for now, Lafayette can stroke a hand through John’s hair. He can press his lips to John’s forehead. He can hold him close and try to make it better. 

It’s the only thing he  _ can  _ do.

***

Come morning, Lafayette’s starting to think that there’s nothing more to be done. John didn’t sleep all night. He stayed up. Tossing and turning. Glaring at different parts of the room. Occasionally murmuring to himself. 

The few times he  _ did  _ drift off, he woke up kicking and flailing not too long afterward. Lafayette shifted eventually. Hauled John up and pressed John against his chest. Running his hands up and down John’s body. Whispering soothing words in John’s ear. Not letting go for anything. 

By dawn, pretending to sleep felt like a useless endeavor. They dressed in their running gear and hit the road. Putting what little energy they had left into running as fast as they could. 

Arms pumping and legs moving as swiftly as their bodies could carry them. Almost pushing themselves too far to make it back home at the end. Slowing down for the long walk to the house. John heaving for breath and leaning over a few times to draw air into his lungs. 

Lafayette carried him the last few steps. One arm around his back. “You will need to sleep tonight,” Lafayette tells him carefully. “You have only—”

“—A few days. I know.” Nationals. John breathed in raggedly. Let it out. “I know.” He’s got a lot to get his head around to fence...he’s going to need to let a lot of it go. 

Getting back inside, Lafayette leads John to the kitchen. Settles him in a chair and kisses him lightly. Thumb stroking John’s cheek. He steps back and sets about making breakfast.  _ “ _ _ Crêpe _ _ , mon amour?” _ It earns him a little smile at least. 

“S’il vous plait?” he asks slowly. 

“S’il  _ te  _ plait,” Lafayette corrects. John repeats it. Properly this time. Good boy. He runs a hand through John’s sweat slicked hair. Snags a curl and tugs on it a little before turning to face the stove. 

This part is the easy part. John with his knees pulled up. Leaning a little in his chair. Cooking their morning meal as part of a routine. It’s always the same thing. A part of Lafayette wants to tell John that no one really eats  crêpes for breakfast. That it’s a desert food only. But it’s quite possibly the only thing John will actually eat in the mornings. And Lafayette doesn’t mind keeping up the façade. 

Though one day he’d love to make something  _ actually  _ breakfast-y. If only because this much sugar in the morning isn’t good for  _ anyone _ . He’d made croissants once. And while they’d been a success, John licking butter off his fingers absently for nearly an hour after, John had pestered him for  crêpes every morning afterwards. Subtle, John is not. 

Cutting up strawberries and bananas, Lafayette flicks on his ipod absently. John snatches it quickly enough, scrolling through songs until he finds what he’s looking for. They haven’t listened to Edith Piaf in a while, but John likes  _ Padam _ . It’s a good morning song in any case, and John hums it as he taps his fingers against his knee. Still scrolling through the ipod for his next number. 

“Blueberries?” Lafayette asks. They don’t usually add blueberries. But they have a small little arrangement ready to go if John wants. And considering how John’s relaxing with each passing moment, morning routine settling his nerves  _ beautifully,  _ Lafayette’s willing to do whatever he needs to in order to keep him happy. 

“Yeah,” John agrees, before going back to humming.

He’s got a good singing voice, even if he doesn’t sing all that often. But it’s a sweet sort of noise. Accented and implicatory. Lafayette’s certain John doesn’t  _ mean  _ to come across sinful every time he hums a few bars, but that’s just what happens. It’s hard to ignore. 

Batter poured into the pan, Lafayette starts flipping and stacking. Side-stepping as John gets a plate and starts to collect the pancakes. It’s easy enough to tap his hip as he slides in close. Easy enough to earn a faint smile, and an even fainter blush in return. 

“You’re...very cute together.” Lafayette’s fingers tighten around the pan handle. He doesn’t turn to look back at Martha. Just watches as her words make John’s relaxed posture stiffen. Turns his head to the side. Lips pressing together tight. 

“We’ve been together awhile,” John mumbles. 

Flipping the final pancake up, Lafayette slips it onto the stack. He flicks off the stove. Moves to get all the pancakes to the table before collecting the fruit and chocolate syrup. He gets the fluff as well, because Alex loves fluff and he’ll come down sooner or later. Even if cold  crêpes are disgusting. 

“You met...here?” Martha asks slowly. 

John nods. Snatching a pancake and starting to pile on the fruit and chocolate. John puts too much on. He always does. But he folds it as best he can and takes a big bite out of it. Juice sliding down his chin. Lafayette reaches for his face. Ready to wipe the the trail away. Hesitating only when John flinches. Staring at Lafayette’s fingers like they’re viper fangs. Poised for violence. 

_ The sooner Martha leaves and we can get back to real life... _ Lafayette sighs. Slowly dropping his hand back to the table. Snatching a stray blueberry. “Would you like some?” Lafayette asks Martha instead. 

She takes her time in replying, but eventually nods. Reaching out to fix it herself. They eat in silence. Just the sound of Edith Piaf playing around the kitchen. Aaron and Madison are usually up by this point, and Lafayette wonders where they all crashed for the night. Probably in the basement. There’s enough mats down there to make things comfortable. Alex would have enjoyed pitching a tent down there. 

Maybe they thought that by giving John and Lafayette space it’d give them time to sort things out on their own. Are only willing to come up if things get rough. 

Martha licks her lips. “I….called mom last night.” John stops chewing on a strawberry. Just holds it in his mouth. Staring down at the other strawberries stuffed into his  crêpe . His toes start tapping under the table. “She um. She wanted to know if um. She could…”

“Come by?” John finished woodenly. He swallows his strawberry. Then pokes another with the tines of his fork. Dragging it from the pancake to smush it in the fluff and chocolate syrup. Martha bites her lip. “S’fine.” 

“Mon amour?” Lafayette asks quietly. John nods. 

“It’s fine.” He doesn’t explain why.

But Martha lets out a sigh of relief, and admits her mother’s already on her way. Lafayette isn’t surprised, and neither is John. “I...she...she’s really coming to pick me up?” Martha mumbles. “She um. Wasn’t happy I came.” John flinches. “Not like that. It’s not. Not like  _ that.  _ She. She said that I shouldn’t have shown up without talking to you first. Not that, you are exactly the easiest person to talk to.” 

John sighs. Sets his fork down on his plate. “When’s she getting here?” 

“Um. Around noon? She...she’d like to see you? I think?” 

John nods slowly. “Tell her we’ll meet her at Mont Calm,” he negotiates. 

The French Restaurant was one of their first dates together. And they’d been there a few times since. John has never been entirely comfortable there. But there’s a sort of fond softness in John when he thinks about the restaurant. A kind of acceptance that he’s gotten over time. 

It’s the restaurant where they go where they’re trying to be fancy. It’s also the restaurant they go when they’re remembering how to be themselves.  _ Effy...like...three ‘“f’s’”.  _

Martha looks vaguely hopeful at the idea, and pulls her phone from her pocket. She sends out the text. 

***

Compared to her daughter, Samantha seems far more put together. 

She’s taller than Martha. More tactful. She and John are more familiar with each other. Aren’t as uncomfortable side by side. Samantha easily navigates the trails of their conversation. Politely giving deference to John when need be. 

With a little bit of forewarning, John seems capable of managing this meeting far better than he had with Martha. Standing still and letting Samantha hug him, and evening returning it with some degree of familiarity before stepping back and to the side. 

Alex and the others had offered to come with John and Lafayette, but it had been a bit much. In the end, John pulled Alex close and kissed him lightly. Thanking him for his help the night before, and promising to come back in one piece. Alex had been miserable with the decision, but respected it. 

Promised he’d be there when John and Lafayette got back. 

This is what they all do. 

Closing ranks around John and Alex whenever they needed the help. Never letting them deal with anything alone, so long as one of them could be there. No matter what. 

Samantha and Martha sit next to each other. John and Lafayette sit opposite. John’s holding Lafayette’s hand under the table. Chin tilting up defiantly. No one says a word about it. “I’m sorry that...she just came over unannounced like this,” Samantha tells John. Even as Martha growls that she had every right to do just that. “After we saw the article we—”

“The  _ article, _ ” John sits up straight. “ _ That’s  _ how you found me?” 

Martha and Samantha both stare at him. Nodding slowly. “Shoulda written that letter after all,” John mutters, redirecting his gaze in the opposite direction. 

“Well excuse me for wanting to see you,” his sister growls. 

“Martha, that’s enough,” Samantha scolds firmly. 

“I don’t understand why it had to be a secret.” 

“It wasn’t a secret. It was just...difficult to explain.” 

Still is. 

Samantha does the best she can. Providing more detail into her divorce. Explaining her side of the story. Lafayette doesn’t like hearing this. Hearing about John’s history through the mouth of an outsider. 

They’ve been together for over a year. If John had wanted to tell him any of this, he would have. Instead, he’d been entirely mum on his issues. Even when he’d come home flat out saying he’d had a panic attack after seeing his father. 

“I spoke to Henry this morning,” Samantha reveals. John’s hand is a vice around Lafayette’s. Squeezing so hard, Lafayette can feel bones starting to shift. “He...said that if Martha wanted to see you he can’t stop her. She’s an adult...who can make her own decisions.” Martha looks vindicated. As if she’d known this would happen the whole while. 

John laughs. It’s a hollow sound. Weary and broken. “Sure,” he agrees. 

_ With father’s blessing, everything is magically better.  _

Or not. 

He has no relationship with his sister. And a fractured one with his step-mother. Just getting permission doesn’t mean that those hurts have healed. Those connections have been remade. 

And after all this time, permission is a hollow thing. Empty and meaningless.

The fear remains. The concern lingers. 

“Do you want to spend time with me?” Martha asks. 

John closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in. Lets it out. 

“Slowly,” he murmurs. “Just...move slowly.” 

“I can do that!” Martha insists. “I can!” 

John nods. Leans back in his chair. He’s at the end of his rope. But he manages to nod. Make his final agreement. 

They’ll do this slowly. 

And see how it goes from there. 


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sitting down on the bench, he pulls out his phone again. He texts Lafayette his status.
> 
> “I’m so proud of you, Mon Amour. You did so well.”

Nationals is huge. 

John stares up at the lights. The people. The stands filled with an audience so loud he can’t hear Tara call his name until she physically tugs him by the arm. 

The school wanted them all looking their best. Each member of the Men’s and Women’s team are wearing brand new jackets. John’s name is written in fancy script over his heart. His school’s name stamped proudly on his back. 

Everything is...so much more than John could have dreamed of. Every part of it more than a little daunting. 

He changes briskly in the locker room. Strapping his uniform in place. Holding his mask between his hands. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Deep breath in. Don’t forget to breathe. 

Ralph gives them all pep talk after pep talk. Even though he looks like he’s going to be faintly ill himself. Columbia is up there, and they’ve already started getting points in the pool. They’re going to win, hands down. But it’d be fascinating to see how far  _ their  _ team could get in the meanwhile. 

John fiddles with his glove. Pulling it off. Putting it back on. He can’t seem to settle his hands. Even his feet. He paces from one side of their bench to the other. Crossing behind his teammates so as to not cut off their view. 

Tara tried telling him to sit down, but he’s not interested in that. He’s not sure he can manage it in any case. He’s too wired. Figuratively and literally. Someone hooks him up to his wire and gives him the twenty-second rundown of what to expect with the technology. As always. 

Cameras are going off in all directions. He can see Rita O’Connor out the corner of his eye. She tries to get near him, but Ralph puts his foot down,  _ “You can talk to him after!” _ and shoos her away. 

When his turn in the pool comes up, he glances at the empty space on the bleachers and feels his stomach clench. Takes one final moment to look at his cell phone.  _ Don’t get hit, mon amour,  _ Lafayette texted him only an hour ago.

There’s a picture of all four of his lovers as his background. Alex giving him two thumbs up. Madison and Aaron far more sedate, but equally encouraging. Lafayette, holding the phone up for their awkward selfie, smiling wide. 

_ Don’t get hit.  _

Taking a deep breath, John sets the phone to the side. He strides up into position. Nods his head politely to his opponent. Then jerks his mask into place. He shifts his feet. Settles into position. Sabre up and at the ready.  _ Present arms... _

His body feels light. Pliable. Ready to move. 

_ "En garde….Prêt...Allez!”  _

John moves. 

His opponent lunges sharp and fast. Parry. Side step. Lunge. Aim to the sixte. Point. 

Regroup. Refocus. Get back into position. Sabre up. Ready. 

_ “Allez!” _

There’s an opening there...lower right. Septime. He blocks. Taps in and out. Point. 

Point. 

Point. 

_ Allez! _

Not fast enough. John feels a sharp burst of pressure. A light flickers. One touch. 

He almost smiles. Thinking of Lafayette.  _ I’ll see your scorecard... _ thinking of going home and feeling Lafayette press his lips against every line of John’s body. Thinking of the warm thrust of Lafayette’s body. 

Reclaiming every part of John again and again.  _ Mine.  _

John taps in and out. Block this. Block that. There’s a clock running. The points are scored. He gets hit at least five more times. But that’s fine, he’s moving on to the next round. He’s won his seed. 

Match over, he shakes hand with his opponent, and steps off. Sends Lafayette his progress report. Gets a congratulations in response. There’s a sly winking emoticon added in as well. A promise for more later. 

John licks his lips. Waits his turn. 

Columbia’s team keeps steamrolling over everyone. They knock out half of the competition quick as a whip. Power over the remaining stragglers like they’re nothing. Ralph manages to beat one, but it’s like David and Goliath, when David’s blind, limping, and has no depth perception. It could have been something, but it’s probably nothing. 

When John’s called up again, he gets onto the floor. Falls into position and holds his hands at the ready. 

_ "En garde….Prêt...Allez!"  _

_ Fuck!  _

Columbia is  _ fast.  _ John blocks. Blocks again. Parry to the left. Parry to the right. He lunges, misses his mark. Almost isn’t quick enough to block the hit coming toward him. Once, twice. He stumbles. Falls out of position. 

Hit. 

_ Damn it.  _

They regroup. Get back into line. Go again. 

It’s the same as before. 

A rapid burst of attacks that are so perfectly placed John’s helpless. Feels each hit when they land. 

He’s not going to get past this seed, and he knows that. Knows it deep within him. But that’s fine. That’s completely fine.  _ What’s he doing?  _

John watches his opponent’s technique his footwork. His posture is flawless. His feet are perfectly in line. He holds his sabre with the utmost delicacy and poise. Aiming sure and true. John blocks and attacks as best he can, and pushes as much as he dares. 

He’s impressed when he manages at least three hits in. Is grateful he even got that much, to be honest. 

By the time the round is ended, John’s chest is sore. His right hand is aching from where it’d been clipped by the Columbia student’s sabre. He’s going to be bruised in the morning. And it was quite possibly the most challenging match John’s ever faced. 

He shakes the boy’s hand, “You’re  _ phenomenal!”  _ his opponent says. John can only stare at him. Eyes wide. 

“ _ Me?”  _

“You really only pick this up this year?” 

“Last year?” John manages. The other boy, nods rapidly. Dragging him off to the sidelines. 

“I’ve been doing this since I was ten. You’re very good.  _ Very  _ good. Let me give you my number, yes? We must meet up again. Train together.  _ You’re going to be unbeatable soon!”  _

He’s given a hearty clap on the back and a jaunty wave, and then the boy runs off. Wishing him well one final time. 

Ralph approaches him. “What did he say to you?” 

“Um? He said I was going to be unbeatable soon,” John parrots. Still not entirely sure what just happened. But Ralph looks like he’s going to be queasy. He stares at John like he’s never seen him before. 

“ _ Friedrich Steuben  _ said you were going to be unbeatable?” he confirms. Just to be clear. 

“Who?” John asks blankly. 

“Just. The best collegiate Fencer in the United States right now. He’s going to the Olympics next round.” 

Oh. 

_ Oh.  _

Ralph is gaping at him. And John can’t help it. He grins. “Well, guess we really  _ do  _ need to start pushing for more latinos in our club, huh? Add in a few token French Fucks too, ya know? Just for posterity.” 

It takes Ralph a moment, but then he starts snickering. “Yeah. Show us gringos the way. I’m telling you. Immigrants? You get the job done.” 

He ruffles John’s hair, and leads him back to the others. Tara scoops him up in a huge hug. Davis congratulates him. 

He’s not getting a medal. Not getting an award. Isn’t getting placed. But  _ Goddamn  _ this had been fun. 

Sitting down on the bench, he pulls out his phone again. He texts Lafayette his status. 

_ “I’m so proud of you, Mon Amour. You did so well.”  _

No judgement. No guilt. No blame. John smiles at the message. Laughs when Alex texts him less than a minute later. 

_ “Tell me how hot Steuben is?”  _

Aaron asking him  _ not  _ to tell Alex how hot Steuben is. 

Madison calling them all weird, while still telling John good job.  _ (“That’s all they had to say, but they had to make it weird.”)  _

For a moment, John almost puts the phone away completely. Almost sets it down for good. But. There are two other names added to his contact list now. Two more people that he promised he’d make an effort for. Even if it makes his stomach twist unhappily. Even if it sends sparks of anxiety through his system. 

_ Got to the second seed, didn’t place. Had fun.  _ He texts Samantha and Martha in a group chat. 

Dot dot dot. 

Dot dot dot. 

Dot dot dot. 

_ CONGRATULATIONS! _

_ GREAT JOB!  _

_ WE LOVE YOU! _

It’s the final comment that does it. That makes him pause. Makes his mouth fall open a little. A large part of him wants to say no. That’s not right. They don’t have a relationship. What they have  _ isn’t  _ love. 

But. There is a small part of him. A very small part, that takes the phone and taps it to his lips. As if the message is physical. As if it can float right through him. Straight to the core. 

Filling his body from head to toe. 

_ We love you.  _

Okay, he thinks. 

Okay, let’s give this a try. 

At least for right now. 

Let’s see how it goes. 

 

[Message sent 1:13 PM

_ :)  _

_ ] _

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any questions, comments, concerns, or prompts, please feel free to find me on: falcon-fox-and-coyote.tumblr.com.


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